The Initiate
by fullmetalgrigori
Summary: Soul Evans has spent years trying to find the truth behind the death of his brother. The trail leads to Shibusen, a covert branch of the CIA. In a bid for answers, he enrolls in their training program, where he becomes the newest cadet among a strange assortment of classmates. The training is intense, and soon the lines between testing and reality become blurred...
1. Chapter 1

Hell, Soul thought idly, probably looked a lot like a computer repair desk.

Because really, what better way was there to torture unrepentant sinners than to have them explain to an irate soccer mom that "no, your iPhone can't have given your van a computer virus, I don't care if your engine won't turn over" for all eternity? If Lucifer hadn't modeled the circles of Hell after the retail market, then the prospect of damnation wasn't nearly quite as daunting.

Soul propped his chin on his hand, surveying the store in front of him idly. It was modeled as most electronics store would be - harsh, fluorescent lights casting a yellowish tint on rows upon rows of various, overpriced gadgets. It wasn't a large chain store, so the racks held a little less than the one across town, which of course, every employee heard about at least twice a shift. Soul had long stopped caring about retaining customers (to be honest, he probably had never even started) and would now cheerfully inform anyone who tried to complain about their patchwork gaming section that they were free to leave the store immediately and try their luck elsewhere.

Unsurprisingly, Soul was quickly moved to the computer repair desk shortly after starting. Foolishly, he'd thought that might put an end (well, okay, maybe not that far, he wasn't that naive) to the stupid questions he'd have to field, and oh, how he'd been oh-so-wrong.

Now, Soul understood that computers could be complicated creatures - he'd been accepted into MI-fucking-T (but that was getting into a whole other set of issues). And granted, there were some people who came to him with absolutely valid questions. Soul didn't have anything against them; they and their virus-ridden laptops made his job a little more enjoyable. No, it was people like the lady who'd come in insisting she'd sold him a faulty laptop because it "wouldn't open" that sucked out his soul a little more each day. He'd spent a good thirty minutes trying to figure out what she meant when he discovered that she'd meant open in the simplest physical sense of the word - she'd been trying to open it on the hinge side. One would think that upon explaining this to her, the lady would have been happy to take her laptop back and leave, problem solved, but one would be forgetting that this was retail, and that of course the lady would fly into a raging fit that Soul hadn't informed her of the proper way to open the laptop.

Yeah, that day had been bad.

But, regardless of every horrific encounter, every mind-numbingly simple task he had to perform, there was one simple perk to the job that kept him clocking in week after week - he had at his disposal several hours spent at a computer each and every day, often in long, uninterrupted segments. And that's all he'd really been looking for.

The screen in front of him flickered as lines of code filled the screen, and Soul refocused from staring blankly at the store floor to the computer. His eyes flicked from line to line, dismissing what he didn't need and taking note of what he did. He frowned, brows drawing together as he began adding his own notes between the code.

For weeks, he'd chased miniscule lead after miniscule lead, snapping at the tiniest bit of information he could come across, no matter how seemingly insignificant. All of it had to do with one thing - his brother.

Wes Evans had been the joy of his mother and father, the pride of the family name. A musical virtuoso, Wes succeeded at just about anything and everything put in front of him. Soul was not so fortunate, but it had never caused a rift between the two. Wes had been genuine in everything he did… which is what made the behavior he exhibited the last few years of his life even stranger.

Yes, Wes had died. It'd been a clear, sunny day in Cambridge when his phone had buzzed in his back pocket in the middle of one of his programming classes. He'd ignored as, as he did whenever it went off in lecture, but it hadn't stopped. Eventually he'd stepped out into the hall just to stop the side-eyed glances. When he'd picked up, he'd snapped a little impatiently at his mother, only to hear a choked gasp echo from the speaker.

He could only recall bits and pieces from that conversation, but the message had been clear - his brother was gone. Soul would learn the details later, but at the moment, it hadn't mattered. Wes would never share another exasperated look at him, would never pick up the phone and start a conversation without even saying hello, never ruffle Soul's hair in the way he said he hated.

Soul had taken a leave of absence from class as he'd returned home to be with his parents for the funeral and what came after. His jaw had ached as he'd stared at the coffin they'd lowered into the ground. It hadn't made sense to him, crying over an empty box. They'd never found his body. Maybe that was what had tipped him onto the path he'd wandered down during that time.

Maybe he couldn't stand thinking about the empty room that shared a wall with his. Maybe it'd been his way of holding onto his brother's memory. Whatever the initial reason, it had shaped his life moving forward.

The more he'd learned about his brother's death in the days leading up to and after the funeral, the less sense things had made. His brother, who was normally so reliable, was suddenly missing events he'd promised to attend, or would cease answering his phone for days at a time. It had all been chalked up to his new position with the Vienna Philharmonic, but when Soul looked back at previous programs, he found multiple performances where Wes had been absent. It was enough for Soul to begin poking into his brother's life in an attempt to make sense of what had happened.

The more he dug, the more discrepancy he found. Why would his brother, a supposed member of the Vienna Philharmonic, be on an unregistered flight? He'd utilized what computer skills he'd learned so far to dig deeper, and when that hadn't taken him far enough, he'd begun to teach himself what he needed to know. While his lectures might have been helpful for his classmates, they didn't contain everything he needed, and soon he was spending his days holed up in his dorm room, hunched over his computer as he absorbed everything he could. MIT had frowned on his prolonged absence from class, and so one semester after leaving for his brother's funeral, he'd returned home once again, much to the dismay of his parents. They'd tried reasoning with him, but Soul wouldn't be swayed. He knew something was off with Wes's death, and no one could talk him out of it.

His parents had little patience for his behavior, so it soon had become clear that he would need to secure somewhere to live, along with a job of his own. He'd been reluctant to abandon his investigation for so long each day, and the only skill set he really had dealt with computers anyway, so he set out looking for a position that would allow him long stretches alone with a computer. The only place he'd found that was willing to take an MIT dropout was a mom and pop electronics store that was in desperate need of anyone who knew anything about a computer and how to fix one.

And so he'd ended up where he was, still combing through pages of pages of data, using his self-taught skills to find the truth he knew was hidden. He hadn't spoken to his parents, who it went without saying heartily objected to the sudden turn his life had taken, in several months, which honestly was probably best for all parties involved. They didn't understand his obsession, but it didn't dissuade him at all. He knew his goal, and he'd get there in the end.

Movement caught his eye. He looked up from the screen and saw an older man wearing spectacles and a ratty coat approaching the repair desk. In an instant, he switched to the desktop, and by the time the man reached him, Soul was donning his best customer service face to greet him. "What can I help you with today, sir?"

The man tilted his head slightly, his glasses catching the fluorescent light hanging from above. He didn't say anything at first, leaving a silence just long enough to be uncomfortable. But before Soul could repeat his question, the man's lips curved into a semblance of a smile, and Soul wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing. "I have a USB drive," he said, pulling a hand from his pocket. He held it out, and true to his word, a memory stick lay in his palm. "I tried to retrieve some data off of it, but it seems to have been corrupted somehow. I was wondering if you might be able to clean it up and recover my file?"

Soul perked up a little. It wasn't uncommon to get that kind of request, but it didn't happen too terribly often. The task had the potential to offer a little more challenge than explaining that laptops don't actually open on the hinge side (god, that had been a _really_ horrible day). On the other hand, the files could have been corrupted because the guy accidentally downloaded a virus off a porn site.

Eh, he'd take his chances.

He took the drive from the man and plugged it into the USB port on his computer. As the drivers installed, Soul subtly gave the man a quick second look.

His hair was completely gray, but despite that, he didn't actually look that old. There weren't many lines or wrinkles, no squinted eyes, no curved spine. He stood tall, posture good but not perfect. His clothes were worn and a little frayed; his coat had certainly seen better days. Otherwise, they were in good condition. He might have cut an entirely unassuming figure, had it not been for the scar on his face.

It cut from the top of his forehead, down his nose, and curved right across his left cheek. The line was jagged and ugly, as though it had been stitched together by someone who only knew the theory of needlework. The man's face, which might have been otherwise unremarkable, was rendered almost magnetic by the scar.

Soul, however, kept his eyes firmly on the computer screen. The last thing he wanted was for the most interesting project he's seen all day to walk out the door. He clicked on the icon for the man's flash drive, bringing up a list of folders. He tried to open one at random, and sure enough, a dialogue box popped up to tell him the file was corrupted.

"Is there a certain file you'd like retrieved?" he asked the man. "Or d'you want the whole thing cleaned up?"

The man tilted his head again slightly, considering the question. "[Insert file name here]. That's the only one I need for now. The rest I can get later."

Soul nodded and returned to the screen. He opened a standard data recovery program and ran it, watching as it sifted through the folders on the USB one by one. Suddenly, it stuttered. Soul frowned.

"Is everything alright?" the man asked.

"It looks a little more complicated than what our standard programs can clean up," Soul said. "But it's nothing I can't handle."

He closed out the data recovery program and dove into the USB itself. The smallest thrill ran up his spine - he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a chance to solve a puzzle like this. It may have been a little pathetic, but he'd take what he could get.

It took a little doing, but eventually he managed to retrieve the specific file. Soul scanned the document briefly to ensure that he'd found the right one. It was a document several pages long, with several chunks of text obscured by long, black boxes. Half the file was redacted.

Alarm bells shrieked in Soul's head. What the fuck was this guy doing, taking a USB drive with government-looking redacted files on it to a goddamn computer repair desk? He snuck a glance at the man, who, thankfully, didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong and was calmly surveying the inside of the store. Soul ducked back down, opened a text file and began typing.

"Have you found my file?" the man asked, turning back to the desk.

"Working on it," Soul said pleasantly. Muscle memory guided his fingers as he read through the redacted file carefully. To anyone else, it would certainly look like he was hard at work. In reality, he was trying to determine if what he'd done could be considered treason in any way.

He'd only seen a handful of redacted documents in his life (some of his digging into Wes's death probably wouldn't be described as strictly legal, per se), so it took a little longer than it would have normally to find the metaphorical smoking gun. But there, in the corner of a heavily blacked-out paragraph, was a simple four digit number. Anyone else might have skipped over it, but Soul knew that number by heart.

3962 - the flight number of the plane Wes had (supposedly) gone down in.

His chest clenched hard, stealing the breath from his lungs. This _had_ to be something, didn't it? Information like that didn't just coincidentally pop up like this. But how the fuck did the dots connect? It was like he was trying to solve the world's hardest crossword, only someone kept switching the clues without telling him.

"Are you alright?" the man asked, glancing down at Soul's frozen hands.

Instantly he was smiling and typing once more. "Yeah, just thought I made a mistake in one of the lines of code. It's a funny story, actually, I knew a guy in college once who…" He started off on a pleasant little throwaway story he hoped would distract the man from the crisis currently taking place internally.

He went through the rest of the file, but there was nothing else legible that related to his brother. Maybe one of the other files? His typing went from meaningless to furious as he combed through the data on the drive, piecing together corrupted file after corrupted file. Finally, he found something that looked promising.

The seal on the top of the page didn't look like anything else he'd seen before. Three lines extended from the center of a black circle at different angles, while two half circles tilted in opposite direction sat a little above where the lines began. Soul blinked, and the shapes coalesced into something recognizable - a simplistic, stylized skull.

The document wasn't as heavily redacted as some of the others, but, regardless, the text on the page was sparse. The heading read _NOC Program '15_ , followed by a shot list. Soul seized on an entry near the middle: _WE - active_.

And that was it. Nothing else on the page made sense, but Soul committed it to memory nevertheless. He exited every file he'd searched through, then began to clean up his tracks. Whoever this guy was, the last thing Soul wanted was him knowing that the computer repair guy had poked around in his collection of probably illegal-to-have redacted government files.

He was almost finished when the screen froze. A dialogue box popped up, cheerfully informing him that the file was no longer accessible, as its destination no longer existed. Blinking stupidly, Soul turned his head to the left to find an empty USB port.

He looked up just in time to see the flash drive disappear into the pocket of the man's coat. "Um, sir?" he said haltingly. "I thought you wanted your file…?"

"It doesn't matter," the man replied dismissively. He looked Soul up and down. His gaze held surprising weight; Soul barely managed to avoid squirming under the scrutiny. "I've got what I need."

And with that cryptic comment, the man turned on his heel and left.

Soul blinked after him, stunned. This morning, the only thing he'd really been worried about was if the cafe next door was going to have his favorite kind of chips stocked. Now there was a strong possibility that he could be arrested for treason, or whatever they charged people who read redacted documents without proper clearance for.

...Well, no one ever said retail positions weren't interesting.

* * *

Soul would be hard-pressed to recall anything else that happened for the remainder of his shift. He was relatively certain he must have had other interactions with customers and coworkers alike, but the man with the glasses and his highly suspect USB remained in the forefront of his mind, leaving no room for anything else. He left the store that day in a daze, walking the few blocks to his apartment off the sheer strength of muscle memory.

The second the door shut behind him, he made for his desk and threw open his laptop, opening a text file to record anything and everything he could remember about the files he'd seen. Every legible word was entered, regardless of the sense it made. When he was finished, he sat back in his chair and rubbed his wrists as he re-read what he'd wrote. Most of it was nonsense, useless without the context hidden by those lines of black ink. But there was one thing for him to latch onto, one thing he understood above all else: his brother was alive.

Because Wes Evans had died five years ago, and the list containing his initials was dated three years later. _Active_ , it had read. Active, as in, not dead. Now all he needed to do was figure out what he was active in.

Needless to say, that would be easier said than done. Despite his reinvigorated interest in the search, the subsequent hours spent hunting through the farthest corners of the web he could reach yielded nothing. Soul still didn't know what NOC stood for, or what kind of program it was, or even what department housed it. The closest he came was an obscure message board he stumbled onto, full of the strangest conspiracy theories he'd ever come across (and considering he'd spent five years looking for proof that his dead brother wasn't actually dead, that was really saying something). One post included an incredibly fuzzy picture of what could or could not have been a stylized skull similar to the one heading the document about his brother. Most of the post was complete gibberish, full of run-on sentences missing punctuation and more typos than one could shake a stick at. But one phrase at the bottom rang eerily clear: _Shibusen lies_.

Despite the message's ominous tone, Soul couldn't make heads or tails of it. No manner of searching could reveal what Shibusen was. Despite the forum's incredibly questionable validity, something in Soul's gut told him it connected to his brother. The unregistered flight his brother was supposedly on, the redacted documents holding just the information he was looking for, the list containing his brother's initials… the pieces were there. It was just the question of making them fit.

And in the center of it all, the man with the flash drive. Soul had gone over the encounter again and again, and could only come to one conclusion - he had to be involved, somehow. No one just had documents like that lying around on a USB, and they certainly didn't bring them to a computer repair desk at a second-rate electronics store. No, he had meant something by coming there, but Soul didn't quite know what.

The shift of numbers on the digital clock beside his desk told Soul it was much too late to continue considering that question, especially if he wanted to avoid being late for tomorrow's shift. He saved the pages of notes he'd curated and shut him computer down, mulling over the incident with the man one more time. Tomorrow, he resolved. Tomorrow he'd start looking into the man to see how he fit into all of it. Because he knew something, and Soul was going to find out what that something was.

He owed his brother that.

* * *

As it turned out, Soul didn't need to look into the man with the glasses, because the man with the glasses apparently decided to look into him.

Somehow, Soul was unsurprised by this.

He was taking his lunch break at the cafe next door when the man dropped into the seat across from him without a word.

They eyed each other silently as Soul finished chewing a bite of his sandwich. He swallowed and asked, "How did you know my brother?"

"That's the question you want to ask first?" the man countered. "Not who I am, or what I want?"

Soul shrugged. "It's the question I want answered the most."

The man's mouth turned into what some would optimistically call a smile. "Fair enough. And we'll get to that. But first I think I'll start with who I am and what I want."

"Do what you like," Soul said, feigning a casual air. Inside his chest, his heart pounded such a heavy rhythm it was honestly surprising one couldn't hear it from across the room. This was it. Five years, and the answers he'd been looking for had simply taken a seat at his lunch table.

"My name is Stein," the man began. "I'm a recruiter."

"Recruiter for what?" Soul took another bite of his sandwich.

"The CIA."

"Oh, naturally," Soul replied. When Stein didn't contradict him, Soul leaned forward, his eyebrows shooting up. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Of course."

Soul slumped back in his seat. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyelids until colors bloomed across the back, but when he opened them again, Stein was still sitting across from him, waiting expectantly. "Then why are you here?" He gestured vaguely at the run down little strip mall the electronics store resided in.

"Recruiting," Stein answered simply.

"And you thought you'd pull a Chuck and try the computer repair desk employee? Sorry to disappoint, but I haven't gotten any weird emails recently." Soul gathered up the remains of his lunch, his appetite suddenly gone. "Look, Stein, or whoever you are, if you're looking for spies, you've come to the wrong place." He pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Born in Florence, Italy. Spent your childhood moving around Europe attending the best preparatory schools offered before settling in one of the most affluent areas of New England. You speak five languages fluently, are passable in another two. Talented musician with the capability of moving in circles most people only dream of approaching. And that's before I've even mentioned your skills with a computer. You've appeared on our radar several times during your search, Soul. And that's without the consideration of your brother."

By the time Stein's speech was over, Soul had slid back down into his seat, eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. "How - what - I'd ask you how you know that, but, CIA."

"You fit the criteria we look for, so here we are."

Soul shook his head. "That can't be all you want in a recruit."

"Soul, I'm not offering you a full place in our program as you are. I'm offering you a chance to apply, and if you pass, a chance to train. Not one of our recruits comes in with a full set of skills. Our job is to see the potential and give you a chance to fulfill it."

"No, I still don't - there's plenty of people out there with skills like that. You talk about potential, but that's not me."

"Really? Anyone else would be able to piece together documents our own cyber team corrupted? Anyone else would decide to go hunting through every other file on there, figuring out the false leads from the truth? Anyone else would know to keep the mark distracted while they extracted information under his very nose? Because in my experience, those are things only a rare handful ever decide to do."

Soul picked at the label on the packaging of his half-eaten sandwich, unable to meet Stein's eye. "Computers are one thing. What you're proposing sounds like a whole other game."

Stein inclined his head in acknowledgment. "And maybe it won't be for you. You won't know the answer to that until you've tried, now will you?" He paused, then added, "You also won't be able to find the answers you want."

Soul's head shot up. "You do know my brother!" His hands clutched the plastic wrap tightly. "Did you recruit him too?"

"I might have approached him with a similar offer." Stein's face was unreadable. "Whatever the outcome may have been… I'm afraid that's classified."

"Bullshit." Soul spat the word out, ignoring the sharp plastic digging into his palms. "You said we'd come to this, and we're here now, so why won't you tell me?"

"Any operation involving the CIA in any official or unofficial capacity is considered top secret unless one has the required clearance level." Stein recited it like he was reading from a manual. "And I'm afraid that can only be obtained-"

"-If I decide to join," Soul finished bitterly.

"-If you pass training and become a fully qualified agent," Stein corrected. "I'm afraid accepting my offer is only step one."

Soul sighed, releasing the balled-up plastic wrap. Of course. _Of course_ getting the answers wasn't that easy. Five years of searching and he'd really believed they would just fall into his lap like this?

...But still. He was closer than he'd ever been, and sure, he wasn't going to get them the easy way, but for the first time, he had a clear path to get them. Granted, that path was _fucking applying to the fucking CIA_ …

When he met Stein's gaze again, the man was regarding him with that piercing look he'd had the day before, as though he could tell exactly what Soul was thinking, but didn't want him to know what he thought about it. Soul scowled. "I don't suppose you're gonna give me time to think about it?"

Surprisingly, Stein nodded. "I'm only in town for another twenty-four hours. Make your decision by then, or the opportunity passes." He stood, pulling something small and square from his pocket. Soul picked it up. It was a business card, all matte black with a small string of ten numbers in white. There were no other embellishments on it.

"So do you-" But when Soul looked up, Stein was gone.

"Of course. Goddamn spy just has to disappear…" Soul muttered under his breath. He looked back down at the card and ran one finger across the smooth surface. One telephone number, one call, and his entire life would take the U-turn of all U-turns.

The question was… would it be worth it?

* * *

Soul spent the rest of his shift in a similar haze as the previous day, and before he knew it, he was back in his apartment, sitting on his thoroughly secondhand couch as he stared at the little black card. One question, one choice, and everything would change.

Part of him wondered why he was even bothering to hesitate. _This is your brother_ , he told himself. _This is the first chance you've had to actually find real, true answers._

 _By joining the goddamn CIA?_ another part asked. _This isn't the road we planned on. Who knows if Stein is even telling the truth?_

And that was the real sticking point, wasn't it? Stein could talk all he wanted, throw around cryptic comments and empty promises, but who said he was really able to deliver, or even if he was telling the truth? Anyone who knew that much about him would know he had a dead brother, and that he'd been digging into it. A few well-placed sentences, and Stein could make it sound just sweet enough to tempt him.

So… did he trust Stein enough to believe him?

Not entirely, if he was being honest. He wasn't stupid, he knew the recruiter was keeping things from him. But some gut instinct told him it wasn't a lie, that there was something there. The documents, the information about his brother, the idea he'd been recruited into some spy program some five years ago - it made sense, in some kind of strange way. His brother's odd behavior, Stein having information about him that no one else would have. Some little voice said this was real.

Which was all well and good, but that still left the question of whether to make the call. Even if Stein was telling the full, unembellished truth, that still left the tiny, not insignificant matter of committing himself to an arduous, brutal training program that he was very likely to fail out of, leaving him with few options and no answers.

He suddenly let out a sharp laugh. An MIT dropout, recruited by the CIA. A computer repair geek, asked to join the nation's elite. Someone in the universe had a warped sense of humor. He could hardly believe it, and if the card weren't grasped between his fingers, he'd think it all a dream.

But no, the card was real, and the number printed on it was (presumably) real, so that left him a choice: did he call or not?

The question kept him awake through the night, burning like a beacon on his nightstand. It weighed down his pocket the next morning, growing heavier and heavier with every step he took. His fingers brushed against it every other minute to reassure himself he hadn't lost it, even as the deadline Stein had given him ticked closer and closer.

A customer approached him with a question about wi-fi on their phone, one that dragged out longer than Soul would have liked. When the man had finally left, Soul looked to the clock, only to choke on a breath. Stein's deadline came in four minutes.

Soul yanked his phone from his pocket, fingers tapping the keys frantically. The number rested unassuming at the top of the screen as his finger hovered over the call symbol, still unsure even as time ran out.

He watched, almost detached, as the top of his finger fell and hit the screen.

A click as the line picked up, then:

"I'm in."


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Soul found an unmarked white envelope in his mailbox. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a short paragraph of text:

 _Mr. Evans,_

 _You have been recruited to join the special operative branch of the CIA. In order to attain the rank of trainee, you must first pass the initial round of testing and interviews. If you do, you will immediately be directed to the Shibusen training facility whereupon you will undergo an intense training program designed to prepare you to join the ranks of the agency. Information about trainee interviews can be found below._

Underneath was a date and location - a week subsequent, in Washington D.C.

Soul mulled over the contents of the letter for the rest of that day. From the wording, it sounded as though he would be expected to drop everything and join the program the second he passed their initial interview. That is, if he even passed in the first place.

So that left the decision: how committed was he?

Pretty damn committed, as it turned out. Days later, his apartment was no longer under his name, and nearly all his earthly possessions were packed up and in storage. He kept only a heavy canvas duffle bag filled with his best guess for what he might need in the next few months as he boarded a plane to D.C. Admittedly, it may have been a poor decision, putting every egg he had in one precariously woven basket. At least he had motivation to pass, he thought as he disembarked. He'd packed up his life for this - he better damn well make it.

A beat-up silver sedan waited near the taxi stand outside the airport; Soul would have walked past it were it not for the man leaning against the passenger door who nodded at him before he could pass. "Mr. Evans?"

Soul stopped in his tracks. "Yes?"

"If you'll come with me, I'll take you to your interview." He stepped forward, extending a hand to take Soul's duffel.

He handed it over, sneaking a second glance at his escort. He was extraordinarily average, and if someone asked Soul to describe him, even after just having met the man, Soul thought he would be pretty hard-pressed to do so. But, he reminded himself as he climbed into the passenger seat, that would kind of be the point, wouldn't it? The car too, only added to the illusion, but a selfish part of Soul wondered if they couldn't have sprung for something with slightly comfier seats.

The ride from the airport was quiet, if a little awkward. Soul's escort didn't seem keen on making any kind of conversation, and Soul wasn't exactly clamoring to do so either. Besides, what kind of questions would he even ask, anyway? _What's it like being a spy? Aside from playing babysitter to recruits who haven't even become recruits yet?_

So the silence remained, but thankfully the drive remained short. Traffic began to die out as they left D.C. and after about twenty minutes, the car rounded a bend in the road to reveal a small parking lot about half full. Two toll road-esque booth bordered each side, one for the entrance and one for the exit. Soul's escort pulled up and flashed a leather badge. The woman manning the booth nodded and waved them through.

The entrance road led to a second, much larger parking lot. A proud, white building covered in windows stretched out behind it. There was no sign or title to announce what the building was, but it didn't need it. The CIA headquarters looked much lighter and more open than Soul was expecting. A glass archway spanned the entrance, supported by blue marbled columns. But, he reminded himself, this was only for the entrance exams. Soul still had a ways to go before working here was a reality.

The driver pulled up to the front and parked. "They're expecting you," was all he said. "I'll take care of your things."

Soul nodded and exited the car. Part of him wanted to stop and just take stock of the moment, but he knew if he did that, he'd start questioning every decision he'd made that had led him here. No, better to keep moving forward, if only to keep the doubt at bay.

He pushed open one set of the double doors that led inside, revealing a large lobby bustling with people. A circular information desk sat right in the middle, manned by three sharply-dressed agents directing those who needed it and keeping an eye on the commotion surrounding them. Soul squared his shoulders and walked across the tile, his feet passing over the proud seal adorning the floor.

"Can I help you?" one of the agents asked, eyeing him up and down.

"Soul Evans; Stein's expecting me for an interview?" He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed over his license.

The agent nodded briskly as she took it, hitting a few keys on the keyboard in front of her and scanning the screen. She handed his ID back with a small smile. "Some will be with you shortly, if you'll just wait here in lobby."

Soul nodded as he pocketed his wallet. The agent quickly became preoccupied with her computer once more, so Soul wandered away fine the desk and took in the lobby once more.

One portion of the wall, tucked away near two of the pillars dotted throughout the lobby, caught his eye. Bronze stars adorned a memorial, framed by flags on either side. "To the fallen," read the title. A red leather-bound book sat atop a lectern, a gold braided bookmark lying across the page. Soul peered down at it, his chest seizing a little as he took in the pages.

Little black stars lined row after row, organized by year. Some had name listed below them, and some did not. Without consciously thinking of it, Soul found himself flipping pages until he reached the second-to-last one. The row labeled 2012 was sparse, only filled with five stars. Four were named, none of them recognizable. The very last remained nameless.

"Fine men and women, all of them." The quiet voice pulled Soul from his stupor. He turned to see Stein standing behind him, hands in the pockets of his coat, gaze fixed on the stars on the wall.

"Is my brother one of them?" Soul's voice was hoarser than he would have liked.

Stein ignored the question. "This life is not an easy one. Often it is one moment that can decide whether yours is the name in the book." He fixed Soul with an unwavering stare. "Are you ready?"

It was unclear what specifically he was talking about - the interview, or the endeavour in general. Regardless, Soul nodded.

"Then come with me." Stein turned and walked briskly away, leaving Soul with no choice but to follow.

* * *

What followed was a barrage of testing unlike anything Soul had undergone before. The very first was a written assessment in a claustrophobic classroom, surrounded by other hopefuls like him. A handful of stern-looking men in suits patrolled the rows, keeping a watchful eye on each and every test-taker. Their presence was hard to ignore, but the content in the booklet in front of him had everything fading out as Soul worked. Logic questions, math problems, reading comprehension - it was hard to tell what, exactly, they were testing him on. The only sound was the scratching of pencils, the steady thud of the agent's footsteps, and the occasional cough. Until -

One of the proctors came to a halt next to a desk. He leaned down, and though he kept his voice low, his words echoed through the room. "You've been caught cheating. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Soul's eyebrows shot up. Who the fuck tried to cheat on a CIA entrance exam? Or better yet, who the fuck thought they would be able to get away with it? Each and every one of them was being monitored like a hawk, and there likely was more than a few cameras watching. The cheater had to be either extraordinarily stupid, or extraordinarily arrogant.

After sneaking a look, Soul could definitively say it was the latter. What looked like a law-school dropout stood up, adjusted his ill-fitting suit, and walked out with his nose in the air. Soul wasn't sorry to see him go.

It did remind him, though, that should he pass the tests laid out before him, he would be spending an indeterminate amount of time with some of the others in the room. He carefully took another look around, keeping his eyes high and off the testing books.

If he had been hoping to draw any general conclusions about the crowd of people surrounding him, he was to be sorely disappointed. It was clear that Stein had gone out and recruited those from any and all corners of life. Older, younger, fit, lean, stocky, bookish, athletic - the only Soul could say for sure that most of them shared was a kind of hard determination in their expressions. It took a certain type to commit to this, Soul mused. Law-school douche excepted.

His gaze landed on a girl hunched over her testing booklet, scowling at the page below her. Dirty blonde haired tied into twin pigtails gently brushed the desk, and every so often she would push one back over her shoulder, only to have it swing back in front of her a few moments later. Her pencil skittered across the page in frantic movements, stopping only to tap against the paper as she thought, brows so bunched together it looked almost painful.

She looked so very young to be here at first glance, but smaller details leapt out the longer Soul looked at her, and he knew instantly he would not be surprised to find her making the trip to whatever training facility they were to be shipped off to, should they pass. Something in Soul's chest gave a funny leap as he realized that it was a very real possibility that he wouldn't be around to see if his prediction would come true.

A looming presence behind his other shoulder had Soul twisting in his seat to face a true giant of a man, who looked more than a little annoyed at being forced to play proctor. The agent leaned down and said quietly in Soul's ear, "Stein says forget the blonde and finish your test."

Without breaking eye contact with the man as he drew away, Soul gathered his booklet between two fingers and wordlessly held it up for him to take. When the proctor said nothing, Soul gave him a small smile. Grumbling, the agent took it, muttering something about cocky, ungrateful wanna-be agents.

Soul scanned the seams of the walls and ceiling of the classroom, quickly finding the camera Stein had no doubt spotted his wandering eyes through. He tossed off a small salute, then looked back over his shoulder at the girl with the pigtails once more. Only this time, she was watching him back.

He froze. She raised an eyebrow at him, and though she couldn't say anything, the exasperated, amused look on her face was plain as day: _And just what do you think you're doing?_

Soul slunk around until he faced forward once more, his shoulders keeping his ears company as they burned bright red. _Way to keep your cool, jackass_ , he thought. _That's really what they look for at CIA, now, abject embarrassment when a girl looks at you_.

Stein was probably laughing his ass off. If Stein was the guy who did things like laugh his ass off.

After the rest of the class had finished the test, they were ushered into a waiting room surrounded by several sets of doors through which applicants were ushered one by one. Some emerged looking no more ruffled than they had going in, but some came out sporting rattled expressions and nervous tics. When Soul managed to catch a glimpse behind one of the ever-mysterious doors, he only saw a stainless steel table with two identical chairs, one of which held a plain man in a dark suit.

"Psych evals, probably." Soul turned to see a willowy woman with long brown hair settle herself next to the coffee pot, arms crossed. "Make sure we're sane before they really start to turn the screws."

"Lovely," Soul said dryly, taking a paper cup for coffee, if only to give him something to do. Caffeine before a psych test was probably a bad idea, but then again, it couldn't be worse than the ones that had got him to where he was, could it?

"I'm Liz," the woman said, inclining her head in greeting.

"Soul."

"So, Soul…" She leaned a little closer, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Ready for piercing insights into your personality and psyche?"

He lifted an eyebrow and took a sip of coffee. "Are you?"

She smiled and huffed a laugh. "Fair enough."

"Evans?" A woman in a sharp suit and a tight bun called his name from one of the doors.

"I guess we'll see," Soul said to no one in particular, tossing his cup.

"Good luck," Liz called after him.

Soul had never undergone a psych evaluation and was left uncertain of what to expect. When he left the room thirty minutes later, he remained as unsure as when he entered. The woman testing him had asked all manner of questions, some piercing, some insulting, and some rather patronizing. He was still disoriented as to how her line of questioning even connected, or how it was meant to assess him in any way. Not knowing whether he'd passed or not was both a blessing and a curse as the testing dragged on, never letting him feel comfortable with his standing at any time.

Physical exams were next, and after the grueling work of the written and psychological testing, sitting through a glorified doctor's appointment was a breeze. However, Soul still had no idea where he stood afterward, as the physician had only asked routine questions and jotted down about three pages worth of notes without saying anything more than he had to.

At the end of the day, Soul could only feel a vague sort of resignation that whatever his fate, it was out of his hands now.

All the applicants ended up in another waiting room, this one near identical to the one before. Previously, there'd been a faint current of chatter as each waited their turn for testing, but now there was only a silence that seemed infinitely louder as each waited anxiously for the news of who would be whisked away for training, and who would be sent home with their tails between their legs.

A large corkboard dominated one wall, and it was here that a crowd of more nervous applicants waited for the results. Soul simply took a seat in a chair on the other side of the room.

"You'd think, being the CIA, they'd be a little more high-tech than a paper list on a bulletin board." A guy with long dreadlocks tied back in a low ponytail took the seat next to him as he watched the restless group.

"Who knows, maybe it's another test," Soul said wryly. "See how you react to being chosen. Or not."

"Wouldn't be surprised. What do you think the right answer to that is?"

Soul shrugged. "Hell if I know."

The guy smiled. "Yean, me neither." He extended a hand to shake. "I'm Kilik."

"Soul." They shook hands.

"So, how did you end up here?"

"Recruiter had me decrypt redacted files in the middle of my shift at a knock-off Geek Squad desk."

Kilik snorted. "Bullshit."

Soul cracked a smile. "I'm serious. Had me thinking I was about to be arrested for treason 'til he showed up again the next day."

"But you still hacked the files."

"Guy hands you a folder of government files and says 'Whatever you do, don't read this,' and you _don't_ sneak a peek?"

Kilik shook his head, but kept smiling. "You're crazy, man, is what you are, but I respect it."

"What about you?"

"Not something as dramatic as that. Guy shows up at my boxing ring, says he's got an offer for me. Might have to take back that comment on you being crazy, 'cos I went for it too."

Before Soul could ask anything else, the door to the waiting room opened, revealing yet another nameless agent. She carried a blue folder under her arm, attracting the stares of every applicant in the room. "Here we go," Kilik muttered, shifting his weight in his seat.

It was like watching a shark clear its way through a school of fish. Applicants parted around the agent, giving her a respectful berth while simultaneously trying to get the best view of the bulletin board. Low chatter started up as she pulled a single sheet of paper from the file and tacked it on the board, and though several jostled and craned their necks to glimpse the names printed in neat little lines on the page, no one dared press too close to the agent who'd posted it. Once she cleared the crowd, however, the horde descended.

"You're not gonna brave it?" Kilik asked, nudging him a little.

Soul shrugged. "Names aren't gonna change depending on when I read it. Figure it's not worth getting a misplaced elbow to the face."

"That's fair."

"What about you?"

He smiled a little sheepishly. "To be totally honest? I'm a little scared."

Soul gave him a rueful smile back. "Yeah, that too."

There were no cheers or groans from the crowd up front, but it quickly become clear who had made it and who had not. Some, however, looked just as neutral as they had before glimpsing the list, and it was those few that Soul knew he would have to watch out for.

As the group thinned, Killik stood up. "Now or never, right?" He made his way to the board without waiting for Soul.

His feet felt like lead dragging across the carpeted floor, his stomach free-falling lower and lower as the text on the page began to grow legible. He came to a stop right beside Kilik, heart thudding against his ribcage as he sought out the surnames near the top of the list.

If he didn't make it, he had nothing to go back to.

He had to make it.

It was almost embarrassing, how long it took for him to take the letters and put them together, to read the name printed there.

 _Evans, Soul._

The breath left his body in one swift movement, leaving his dizzy and slightly-punch drunk. When he turned to look at Kilk, he found he wasn't the only one.

"Well, Soul, looks like this is only the beginning."

And though he knew the road ahead was going to be longer and infinitely more arduous then what he'd done today, he couldn't keep the satisfied smile off his face.

One step closer.

* * *

Those few dozen applicants who could now officially claim the title of recruit were quickly ushered from the waiting room and down a twisting series of halls until they reached the far side of the building, where a nondescript bus idled next to the curb. A haggard-looking driver slowly piled luggage into the compartment underneath as those lucky few - or unlucky, Soul mused, depending on how you thought about it - piled inside. Soul took a window seat near the middle, pulling out his scratched, chunky iPod and untangling the earbuds. He'd just popped them in when Kilik approached up the aisle, catching his eye and tilting his head in a silent question. Soul nodded, but scrolled through his music in a show of finding something to listen to as Kilik settled into the seat next to him. In reality, the music remained silent as Soul listened in on those around them as the bus finally groaned to life underneath them and left the CIA headquarters in its rearview.

Soul kept his head turned toward the window, looking to anyone else like he was simply enjoying both his music and the scenery. His iPod stayed propped in his hand, catching the reflection of the few rows behind him and its occupants. While he couldn't see very much or very far, any information he could get before they set foot on the training facility might come in handy.

None of it seemed very vital, as most rattled off inane details or kept their histories close to their chests. They were, after all, about to compete against each other - at least, Soul assumed. CIA training didn't seem like an exercise entirely conducive to team-building. Regardless, no one was exactly spilling their inner secrets to their neighbors, or even talking much about themselves at all.

Well, except for one.

He was hard to miss, with both the sky-blue hair carefully styled into a spiky mess, and the booming voice that sounded like it should have emerged from a man twice as large. Words poured from his mouth in an endless torrent, drowning those around him - whether they were making an attempt to listen or not. His stories seemed centered on his accomplishment of various feats of skill and strength, though most sounded more improbable than probable. No one appeared to mind much, either only paying half attention, or listening out of amusement more than anything.

One recruit, however, was taking his likely fabrications a little too personally. He squinted angrily behind coke-bottle glasses and raised his adenoidal voice in protest. "It's impossible to summit Kilimanjaro that quickly."

If the protest bothered the boasting recruit, he didn't let it show. He only smirked and crossed his arms over his stocky chest. "Just 'cause you'd rather spend your days behind a computer…"

The bespectacled recruit flinched, confirming everyone's silent assumption of how exactly he'd come to land a seat on the bus. Regardless of the stares they were garnering, he pressed on. "No, I'm saying _no one_ can do that. The fastest anyone's ever been able to do that is…"

Soul tuned out the nasally lecture, turning his attention instead to the other recruits around him. He tilted his phone slightly, and the image of the smug, blue-haired recruit was wiped away and replaced with the woman sitting next to him - the pigtailed blonde from the exam.

Surprisingly, she didn't look nearly as annoyed at the recruit by her side as Soul would have expected. If anything, she looked on with amused exasperation, as if she were rather used to the behavior. Soul studied her closely, watching every little interaction between the two. It wasn't obvious, and others certainly would have overlooked it, but the two of them knew each other, and not as passing acquaintances. He filed that interesting tidbit away for later.

Soul shifted the phone again to get a better angle, but forgot about the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He caught a sunbeam with his screen and managed to land in the blue-haired recruit's face. Squinting, he lifted a hand up to shield his eyes, squinting as he searched for the source. His eyes narrowed further as he caught sight of Soul's phone.

"Hey, goth with the music!" he called, his bellowing voice drowning out every other conversation. All gazes fell on the two of them. Soul shrank down a little in his seat. _So much for laying low_.

But before Soul could say or do anything, another chimed in. "Goth? That's a prep if I ever saw one."

Heads swiveled to find the owner of the voice. A petite girl with pastel pink hair lounged prettily in the seat one row up on the other side of the aisle. She eyed him knowingly.

The guy scoffed. "Yeah, right."

The girl rolled her eyes. "I've been scamming his kind," - she jerked her chin at Soul- "long enough to recognize a prep school boy when I see one." She leaned forward, wrapping one delicately manicured hand around the back of her seat. "So what are you doing here, rich boy? Get bored and decide to play spy?"

Soul's jaw twitched. "You got me pegged." He feigned a casual shrug.

"Well, do us all a favor and don't overstay your welcome." She settled back into a casual lounge, inspecting her nails for show. "Some of us worked hard to get here."

Soul lifted an incredulous eyebrow. "Yeah, I can see that. Those hands can't have seen more than a day lifting Louis Vuitton luggage."

She shot him a hard glare, one he happily returned. Those around them, sensing the interesting part of the conversation was over, slowly turned back to their own. The pink-haired girl broke his gaze, snorting in dismissal as she turned away. Kilik shook his head, murmuring under his breath, but Soul didn't miss the evaluating glance he gave him.

As lively chatter filled the bus once more, only one recruit kept staring at Soul. The blonde in pigtails fixed him with an unwavering stare, bright green eyes pinning him in his seat. And though they'd never spoken, though he didn't even know her name, Soul felt utterly exposed under her once-over. When she finally turned away, he sucked in a deep breath and turned back to the window, unsure of why he suddenly felt so off-balance.

About an hour later, it became clear they were approaching their final destination. Interstates shifted into highways shifted into winding back roads, leading them deeper and deeper into the Virginia countryside. The bus crested one last rolling hill, revealing a massive complex of buildings that looked entirely out of place nestled in a modest river valley. The conversations around Soul died quickly as everyone craned their necks and gawked at their new - potentially temporary - home.

The low, sprawling compound spread out across the valley, spreading its various wings and buildings wide. Dark windows spotted the sides, though it was hard to see what might be behind them. Heavy forests bordered the back and sides, giving the compound another layer of shelter. Soul didn't know what he'd expected of the facility they would spend their foreseeable future, but it did not disappoint.

The bus pulled up near the front entrance, the engine shuddering in relief as the driver shut off the ignition. One by one they piled out, stretching out cramped limbs. A few made to gather their luggage, but the driver waved them off. "Your things will be brought to your rooms; just follow Nygus to orientation." He pointed to a slender black woman waiting by the front doors, though Soul could have sworn she hadn't been there a moment before.

Nygus ran her gaze across the group, then nodded sharply and turned on her heel, leaving them to follow her and her swinging braids inside.

Narrow, white-paneled hallways snaked throughout the interior of the facility, leaving Soul hopelessly confused as they turned left, right, right, then left again. He knew it was only the unfamiliarity of the surroundings that left him so unsettled, but part of him wondered if they did it a little bit on purpose, just to remind everyone why they were there.

Finally, Nygus stopped in front of a set of plain double doors and turned to face them. "Orientation will be through here," she said. "Afterwards, you'll be shown to the mess hall for dinner, then to your rooms. Training begins tomorrow at 0600 in the gym. _Don't_ be late." After surveying them all with a sharp eye for a moment, she cracked a small smile. "And welcome."

She pushed open the doors, revealing a large lecture hall filled with desks. A raised dais with a wooden table on it stood at the front of the room just in front of a large wall of screens displaying a generic screensaver. Solid counters lined the walls on either side; underneath were plain wooden cabinets, all closed.

For the main room in a spy facility, it looked an awful lot like the room Soul had taken chemistry lab in.

Two men stood on the platform, one leaning casually against the table, the other standing straight beside him. Soul recognized Stein instantly, and felt a sudden rush of relief. He'd known he was in the right place, that his doubt was foundless and unnecessary, but seeing Stein again erased the last shred of lingering doubt. This was it. He'd made it.

The other man held himself much more casually than Stein did, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested one would be better off not challenging that. Deep, vivid red hair fell to his shoulders, and color so vibrant Soul had a hard time figuring out if it came from a box or not. He wore a fitted charcoal gray suit, but the shirt collar was mussed and his tie hung a little loose around his neck. Overall, not someone Soul was anticipating to lead this little summer camp, but he knew better than to judge.

The desks slowly filled as they filed in. Soul picked one off to the side, far enough away to not immediately be noticeable, but still retained a clear view of the room. Despite the crowd, Stein still managed to catch his eye. Soul only raised an eyebrow: _well, here I am_.

It hadn't been particularly loud as everyone took their seats, but it managed to grow quieter still as the red-haired man took in the recruits before him. He opened his mouth to begin speaking, then froze. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he snapped his mouth shut, his gaze fixed on one spot in the classroom. Soul peered around a few recruits in his row to try and find what the hell had struck him so suddenly. For some reason, he was utterly unsurprised to see the pigtailed recruit sitting calmly under his stare. She only lifted her chin subtly, as if to say: _your move_.

Regardless of what she'd meant, the instructor quickly composed himself, tugging on one of his sleeves as though only readjusting his suit. All in all, there's probably been no more than a few seconds of silence. When he spoke, it was as though nothing had happened.

"Welcome, everyone, to Shibusen."

The muscles in Soul's chest tightened. This, then, was what that anonymous post on the forum had been talking about. He tried to ignore the phrase that floated through his mind once more: Shibusen lies.

"This is the facility where you'll be spending the next few months as a part of our training program." The man gestured to himself and Stein. "My name is Spirit, and this is Stein. We're the directors of the program, and will be overseeing your training. Our instructors will observe each of your courses and inform us of your progress." He gave them a shark's smile, full of too much teeth and warning to ever be considering friendly. "And we decide if you have what it takes to stay."

A chill crawled down Soul's spine. He'd known this, but it hadn't quite sunken in until now - what he'd done had only been the first step in a marathon. The path remaining still stretched out past the horizon.

"Now, you may be wondering what it is you've gotten yourself into, and what it is we'll ask of you day in and day out. Our goal is to impart on you the skills you'll need to succeed as an intelligence operative - persuasion, concealment, extraction. Throughout your time here, you'll be tested on each and every one of these skills. Some you'll see coming, and some you won't even know you've undergone. This will be the most difficult undertaking you've ever experienced. There are those in this room who _will_ wash out." Spirit paused, his gaze both critical and curious, as though wondering who among them might be standing at the end. Soul's posture straightened of its own accord, as though he were trying to show that he would be among those remaining.

"But those of you who flourish, who make it through the program and come out the other side, will join the ranks of Shibusen operatives within the CIA. Your success here determines your placement out there. For the best of you, the ones who show the most promise…" Spirit trailed off, eyes glinting as he savored their rapt attention.

"The best among you have the chance to be assigned a non-official cover. Disavowed before you even leave the agency for the first time. To the outside world, you become invisible. A ghost to slip in and out where others never dare to tread, to steal the secrets every intelligence agency in the world aches to possess. But if you're caught…" Spirit's face turned grave, sucking all the air from the room with one small phrase. "Well, don't get caught."

He let the silence linger a little longer before speaking up again. "Keep in mind, our NOC program is limited. Only a few of you will get that chance."

Spirit continued speaking, but Soul didn't hear a word of it. The only thing running through his mind was the acronym - NOC. Wes's name had been on a list titled that exact thing; it must have been the program Wes had joined. Soul tried to catch Stein's gaze for any kind of confirmation, but the man was scanning the room, studiously avoiding Soul with every sweep.

Well, that wasn't entirely surprising. It's not like Soul was really expecting him to wink or nod or add on, "Yes, and the brother of one of you joined our very ranks." Still, Soul was determined to confront Stein about it, and resolved to get his answers as soon as he could.

"So for the next several weeks, keep your guard up and take in everything you can," Spirit said with finality. "You never know when you'll need it." He gave a little half-smile, gaze sweeping across the room. "Any questions?"

If anyone did, no one wanted to break the mesmerizing spell Spirit had cast over the room. Also, Soul was pretty sure no one wanted to be the person who asked a stupid question during CIA training orientation.

Spirit clapped his hands once, and the stillness that had settled over the room dispersed all at once. "Then get yourselves to the mess hall for dinner. I'd suggest getting a good night's sleep tonight, because you're gonna need it." The smile he gave them was not at all encouraging.

The room erupted into a low roar of chatter, but Soul wasn't inclined to join in. He kept his eyes front, watching Stein as he talked in low tones with Spirit. It probably wasn't a good idea to try and accost Stein while on the dais, so he decided he'd try and catch Stein on his way out, ignoring the fact that he would still technically be accosting him. He'd been scanning the room throughout Spirit's speech, and by his assessment, there was only the one way out. Stein wouldn't be able to avoid him, and even if he refused to give Soul a straight answer (which, to be honest, Soul was expecting anyway), there was at least the possibility that he might give something away.

Okay, yeah, it was a long shot, but Soul would take what he could get.

So Soul ducked out of the lecture hall with the rest of the recruits, but hung around the entrance as he waited for Stein. The stream of recruits exiting began to trickle down, then stopped altogether, but Stein still didn't make an appearance.

Was he still talking with Spirit? Soul leaned in closer to the doors and caught two voices inside, and while one did indeed belong to the other instructor, the second was a woman's, and based on the context of their conversation, it belonged to the pigtailed recruit Soul had noticed so many times before - the one whose appearance had thrown Spirit off so completely.

"What are you doing here?" Spirit hissed. If Soul had been on the receiving end of that voice, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep from wincing at the tone.

The recruit, however, was unfazed. "Really? I thought that would be obvious."

"I expressly forbade you from applying."

"I didn't. I was recruited."

"Recruited? But I-" Spirit cut himself off with a small shriek of indignation. "Stein. He recruited you?"

Soul could practically hear the answering shrug. "You told him to find the best. He did."

Spirit's voice went quiet, and Soul had to strain forward to catch his next words. "You know why I asked you not to."

"And?"

"Maka-"

The recruit - Maka, apparently - snorted. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't want me here, fine. But it's not up to you anymore. You can't throw me out without a damn good reason, and you know you aren't going to find one."

"...I'm only doing my best."

There was a long pause, then Maka sighed. "I know you think that. But I'm here now, and you're gonna have to find a way to deal with it."

Spirit grumbled something under his breath, and though Soul had pressed himself right up against the door, he couldn't catch it. A moment later, the door vanished underneath him, and it was a small miracle Soul didn't go toppling after it. When he regained his balance, he found Maka standing in front of him. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she recovered quickly. "You got everything you needed?"

Soul spluttered. "No, I wasn't - I didn't - I was just trying to catch Stein."

Maka raised an eyebrow and turned to the side to peer back into the classroom in an exaggerated fashion. "Unless he's hiding in a supply closet, you missed him."

How the hell… you know what, it didn't matter a much as getting the hell out of this fucking uncomfortable situation. "Yep, my bad, I'm just gonna… go." Soul pivoted on his heel and began walking quickly down the hallway.

"Mess hall's this way," Maka called after him, jerking a thumb behind her shoulder.

"Of course," Soul grumbled, suddenly too tired and irritated to censor himself. "Can't hang signs up or anything because it's probably a goddamn test and I'm gonna wash out for failing navigation or some other bullshit."

He might have imagined it, but he thought Maka's lips might have twitched. "Well, guess you'd better figure it out soon." She disappeared around the corner, but when Soul hurried after her, hoping to follow, she was nowhere to be seen.

"Is everyone around here a goddamn ghost?" he wondered aloud.

Well, if they were, he'd have to catch up, and fast.


	3. Chapter 3

Soul did eventually manage to find his way to the mess hall just in time to grab dinner and wolf it down before all recruits had to retreat to their rooms for the night. In truth, the limited time frame was a blessing, because the food on the tray given to him was pretty much unidentifiable, and eating quickly without stopping to examine what he was putting in his mouth was really the only way to get any of it down.

Finding his room wasn't nearly as much of a trial, as the whole group was shepherded to the residence halls. Nameplates screwed into the wall beside each door announced who would be residing there. Soul shared a room with a quiet recruit named Harvar, who didn't seem inclined to talking at all as they both prepared for bed. In a way, Soul was grateful for the quiet, because he wasn't feeling up to maintaining any kind of conversation. The day had been incredibly long, and if Spirit was to be believed, it would only get harder from then on. Part of Soul embraced the challenge, but another wondered quietly if this would be worth it in the end. He had enrolled to find answers about his brother, after all. Who was to say he would even get them by the time this was all over?

His chest tightened as he thought it, but he quickly banished the doubt away. Even if no one here wanted to give him answers, Soul was perfectly capable of finding them himself. After all, here he was in the belly of the metaphorical beast - there was nothing to stop him from doing a little snooping.

Well, the instructors could, but he didn't exactly deserve to be here if he couldn't evade them, right?

So Soul fell asleep clinging to his new resolve… which proved much harder to hold onto when someone began pounding on their door at some ungodly hour the next morning.

"Everyone up, dressed, and in the hall in five minutes," an unfamiliar voice bellowed, fading slightly as its owner moved on to the next door. Slowly, the hall came to life as its occupants left the relative comfort of their beds and prepared for the day at varying speeds. It hadn't been specified, but Soul assumed they were to don the clothes that had been found neatly folded at the foot of their beds the previous night, as it appeared to be a uniform of sorts. Soul and Harvar both donned the brown cargo pants and dark long-sleeved shirts and filed out into the hall, when Soul was thankful to see that everyone else had done the same. He was less thankful to find that most of the recruits did not look nearly as tired as he felt. As they followed their instructor for the day through the facility, Soul did his best to rub the gritty sleep from his eyes and shake his limbs out to remove any lingering drowsiness. He was only partially successful.

Their class was led outside to the forest bordering the back of the building, and though it was still dark out, Soul could make out the trailhead they gathered around and the faint running trail that snaked through the trees.

A morning run. Of course.

Their instructor, a burly black man with braids, turned to face the group and crossed his arms. "You'll start every morning with a trail run in order to build your endurance. While you won't be timed per se, it will be expected that you improve during your stay here." From the stern gaze he gave them, it was clear that the instructors would know if they didn't. "After you've finished, you're to come to the gym for your introduction on hand-to-hand combat."

Some nodded, but most just kept staring at the instructor. After a few moments of silence, he raised an eyebrow. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

With that, everyone surged forward, some darting through the pack to try and start their run in the front. Soul rolled his eyes. It wasn't a race, so what did it matter if you finished first?

Still, no one wanted to be last, and Soul himself put a little extra speed on so he wasn't the last one onto the trail. If it was to be called that - sometimes the path was so obscure Soul was left to wonder whether he was even going the right way at all. At the very least, he took comfort that if he was going the wrong way, everyone else was too.

Now, Soul wasn't a huge fan of running, but he had to admit that if this was to be a part of their training, it was nicer to do a trail run than simply do laps on a track. It made what Soul had always considered a monotonous activity a bit more interesting. Although, sometimes it was hard to think that when he was cursing out a tree root after nearly rolling an ankle.

A huff of laughter drifted his way as he regained his footing, and he looked to see the blue-haired recruit from the bus drifting back towards him, running backwards and looking entirely too at ease with himself. "Having trouble?" he asked, grinning widely.

"Showboat," Soul mumbled, but with the physical exertion, the insult came out more like a wheeze than anything else. Infuriatingly, the other recruit took it all in stride and turned around in one smooth motion, looking more graceful than he had any right to be.

"Won't get anywhere with that pace," the recruit said. He winked before taking off.

Soul muttered a few more choice words, but maintained his speed. If they were truly learning combat after this, the last thing Soul wanted to do was burn himself out.

The sky was just beginning to lighten as they emerged from the forest, collecting in a little cleared nestled next to the opposite side of the building from where they started. Soul wasn't sure how far they'd run, but seeing as they would have to make the same journey each and every day, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

His chest heaved as he gulped down air, and to his mixed satisfaction and chagrin, there were those present in the class who did the same, and those who looked completely unruffled, as though the several miles they'd run had been a mere warm-up. Which he supposed they had, considering day was just technically breaking.

Nygus met them by a side door and without a word led them inside and down another confusing series of halls. Soul did his best to keep track of the layout. Finally they reached a large, open room enclosed by clear glass walls. Inside was a gym, complete with mats covering the entire floor, several rows of punching bags, and even a small boxing ring tucked into a corner. Soul saw Kilik light up a little as he took in the room, and knew of at least one recruit that would excel in that morning's sessions. Some others also looked confident, while a few like Soul eyed the equipment warily.

The bulky instructor from that morning stood near the front of the room, arms crossed as he waited for everyone to fill the open space in front of him. To his right stood another instructor, burly and ruddy-faced, with pale hair and bushy eyebrows that made him look perpetually grumpy. Or that could have been just his face.

As they settled down, the instructor on the right spoke up. "Welcome to your first combat session. My name is Sid; this is Barton." He gestured to the angry man beside him. "We'll be supervising you throughout your time here, though we won't be the only ones. Our job is to show you how to hold your own in a fight, should you encounter one, and more importantly, how to walk away from one."

"We're well aware some of you aren't as versed in the art of combat," Barton interjected, looking none-too-pleased about it. "And so we'll be starting off with the basics."

One recruit near the back scoffed. "What if we already know what we're doing?"

Sid answered in a mild tone. "You're free to sit off to the side for the introduction if you'd like." It was clear that this was not really a viable option. The recruit who spoke up seemed to get the message and merely nodded meekly.

"As we were saying," Barton continued, "we'll go over the basics and then put you in pairs to practice sparring. Throughout our sessions we'll be switching up partners and assessing how your skills improve over time. So I suggest you listen to what we have to say, even if you think you know what you're doing."

Some recruits had the gall to look a little insulted, but some, like Kilik, only nodded in understanding. Soul, who didn't exactly have a background in any kind of fighting, was only too happy to take whatever critique they would decide to give them.

Sid directed them to the rows of punching bags, where they wrapped their wrists before taking their places behind them. The instructors then walked them through the basics of how to throw a punch correctly, how to distribute their weight, and introduced combinations of blows using their hands, elbows, and occasionally their knees and feet. He hadn't been expecting it, but Soul found the rhythm of punching against the canvas bag almost soothing, the heavy impact against his knuckles cathartic in a bizarre fashion. However, it was also tiring work, and at the end of the introductory session, Soul was covered in sweat and aching from the tips of this fingers all the way down his back.

"Jesus Christ, how did you do this for a living?" Soul threw himself to the ground next to one of several benches set along the glass walls, taking a provided water bottle and sucking down the contents.

Kilik, who had followed him, only grinned. "Isn't it awesome?"

"I'm dying," was Soul's only response.

A rowdy group of recruits made their way across the gym, and Soul caught their conversation as they passed them. "You know they're only doing this stupid intro because they got a little too eager with their recruitment," one of them was saying loudly, eyeing Soul as he did so. He wouldn't have looked out of place in an army recruitment office, what with the muscled build and buzzed haircut, with the exception of the unpleasant set to his features. "Inviting all these analysts and computer programmers in - what do they expect? They're supposed to stay behind a desk anyway; I won't be surprised to see them all gone before the week's over." He met Soul's gaze directly as he said it, but Soul didn't react beyond raising an eyebrow. The recruit rolled his eyes and continued on, his crowd of listeners following close behind.

"Please tell me we're doing something that is not physical activity this afternoon," Soul said after they'd left.

"Yeah, but I don't know what it is," Kilik answered.

"I'll take anything." He tried not to, but he did end up watching the group who'd passed by them again as they left. It didn't bother him, not really, but at the same time he desperately wanted show them up, to shove it in their faces and say, "See, there are plenty of things other people are better at than you," just so he would know what it felt like.

 _Careful_ , a small voice in the back of his head reminded him. _Remember what you're here for_.

Still, he couldn't help the small surge of glee when the classroom they walked into after lunch turned out to be a computer lab. He barely resisted the urge to crack his knuckles.

Stein stood at the front of the room, his eyes hidden behind the glare sparking off the lenses of his glasses. "You've been introduced to hand-to-hand combat this morning," he said, and though his tone was quiet, he instantly had the ear of the entire room. "However, physical confrontation will often be the very last resort during a mission. The true goal of any intelligence agent is just that: intelligence. Usually, the target has to remain alive and conscious to provide you with it." He said this last in a dry tone, leaving most to wonder if he was trying to make a joke. No one laughed. "Spies live and breathe on intelligence - who has it, who doesn't, who's willing to give it up, who isn't. Finding out what you need is a crucial skill any successful agent has."

He took a few steps forward and laid a hand across the top of a computer in the first row. "How you obtain that information can vary, but one useful method is by computer. Now, all of you have experience using these, but some have much more skill than others. If this is the case for you, I recommend practice."

Stein turned around and pulled a remote from his pocket. He clicked a button and the screen at the front of the room blinked to life. On it was a picture of a woman with black hair wearing sunglasses. A short, bulleted list of information followed it.

"You've received intelligence that this woman is planning to sell weapons to a militant group whose goal is to attack a major urban city. Your goal is to find the woman." He gestured to the screens in front of them. "Wake up your computers."

Soul tapped his spacebar. The revolving Shibusen symbol that had served as a screensaver vanished to reveal an unfamiliar database. "This is an agency database used to store information we receive. You'll use it to identify and locate this woman. The database will do most of the work for you - your goal is to identify patterns and piece together what is relevant to your search, and what is not."

Stein paused, then leveled the group with a hard stare. Soul couldn't help but feel that the following would be addressed to him. "To be clear, this database had been carefully constructed to fit the parameters of this assignment. So if you're tempted to try and research something unrelated to the exercise, don't. You won't find anything."

The plan Soul had been forming in the back of his mind quickly died. Well, it had been worth a thought.

A recruit near the front of the room raised his hand. "Sir? I thought the CIA had analysts who do this sort of thing."

Stein nodded. "We do. But say you've been tasked with infiltrating the home of a suspect and need to pull very specific information off their computer. Are you going to ring up an analyst and ask them to do it for you?"

"Point taken, sir."

Stein nodded. "Finding the one good piece of information in a pile of meaningless data may seem trivial, but can often mean the difference between acting in time and missing a threat entirely. You'll have an hour to go through the database and determine the location of your target. At the end, you'll each give your answers, and we'll see which of you have managed to sort the valid from the fictional. So," - he rubbed his hands together - "let's see what you can do."

The room filled with the chaos of typing. Soul pounced on the keys, opening the database and poring through just to get an idea of what he had to work with. Data skimming wasn't hard. It took him a few minutes to whip up a rudimentary algorithm and soon he had it combing through the database to find what he needed based on the list Stein had provided. Every so often, it would pull a piece of information that Soul set aside to be analyzed once the program was finished.

He tapped his fingers in a staccato against the desk, every so often sneaking a glance at those around them to judge his progress. He was confident that he would be among those who found the right location.

The thought made him pause. The exercise wasn't about speed, but precision. At the end of the session, it was likely that more than one would be right. In this assignment, there would be no first place.

...But what if there was? What if he managed to be the only one to successfully complete the exercise? That would make him stand out a little more, and considering the physical aspect of training, Soul wasn't confident in his ability to excel there. So if there was a way to boost his standing while he could, shouldn't he take it?

Soul dove back into his algorithm and made a few key tweaks - every time it pulled information related to the parameters he'd set, it would adjust the corresponding entry in the database. Whoever accessed the information would find something slightly different than Soul had, subsequently altering their answers. Small changes, but that was all it took when connecting patterns like this.

As his program ran, Soul began working with the information he already had, adding in whatever bits and pieces popped up along the way. It was challenging, like working with a jigsaw puzzle where you didn't entirely know what the big picture was at the end. Some information contradicted others, and though the work was frustrating and difficult, a picture did begin to emerge.

Soul was just scrambling to double check that his conclusion lined up with all the entries he'd pulled when Stein cleared his throat. "That would be time," he said, and though a few recruits looked rather unhappy that it was, no one dared voice any sound of frustration. "Let's see what you have."

One by one they began presenting their answers, and it was with no small sense of satisfaction that Soul listened to incorrect guess after incorrect guess. When Soul's turn came, he said, "She's at the Grand Plaza hotel in Tripoli, sir." Stein nodded, but said nothing as he had before.

When the room had finished, Stein regarded them for a long moment. "Interesting," he said finally. He went to an empty computer on the first row, typed a few things on the keyboard, and read the text that appeared onscreen. He nodded to himself, then straightened. "Normally, many more people succeed in this task than have done so today. Mr. Evans," he said. Soul straightened up at the tone. "You were the only one to correctly identify the target's location. Would you like to explain how you did so to the class?"

Something in his tone didn't sit right with Soul, but it wasn't like he could avoid answering. "Well, sir, I designed an algorithm based on the information you provided, and from the entries it pulled, I-"

Stein interrupted him. "Let me rephrase. Would you explain to the class how you kept them from coming to the correct answer?"

The class stirred, some sending him dirty looks while others whispered to each other. Soul refused to be cowed, and met Stein's critical gaze head-on. "Sir, isn't it true that sometimes other parties will also be looking for the information you are? It's important to get it right, yeah, but shouldn't you also take measures to prevent those other parties from obtaining the information as well? And," he added, "you never said we couldn't use all of the skills at our disposal."

The angry buzz in the room picked up a notch. Stein regarded him for a long moment. "That is technically correct," he said. "On both counts. So, Mr. Evans, you are the sole owner of the information on the woman the CIA is seeking. But," - he formed a gun with his fingers and leveled it at Soul - "say you're killed trying to leave with that information." He pressed his thumb down to mime the pulling of the trigger. "Now you've burned down the only access the agency had to that information."

Soul's cheeks flushed a deep pink. He'd been so determined to prove himself and his skills, he hadn't considered alternate implications to his actions.

"That," Stein continued, "and you've likely successfully alienated any potential allies you might have formed here."

Sure enough, no one else in the room looked particularly happy with Soul. Even Kilik looked mildly disgruntled, and Soul had to admit, were he in another's shoes, he'd absolutely agree that what he'd done was a dick move. He hadn't planned on making any bosom friends while he was here, but now that he'd burned those bridges to the ground, he began to wonder if the decision had really been a good one.

"So, Mr. Evans, you have your information. I wonder, then, if it was worth it?"

* * *

Soul's stunt in the computer lab certainly didn't endear him to anybody. Throughout the next week, no one went out of their way to talk to him, and though Kilik wasn't entirely unfriendly, he didn't make any further overtures of friendship. Soul was tempted to say this was likely how training went anyway, with everyone keeping a wary distance, and while it was certainly true that no particularly close bonds were formed, there were groups of recruits that were on friendly terms.

Soul, it went without saying, did not belong to those groups.

He never let it bother him, because that had never been his goal here - do well, and find your answers. That was what Stein had promised him.

It was easier said than done.

Sure, computer lab was laughably easy, and he was practiced enough at reading people and lying. The real difficulty was, predictably, the physical tests.

Specifically, combat.

It was all well and good to beat a punching bag all day, and Soul was reasonably confident that should he encounter a heavy bag of sand in a dark alley, he could take it in a fight. The issue was translating the techniques to a sparring match.

The first week they'd all drilled on punch combinations until Soul could do them by instinct, his body moving without needing his mind to direct it. He'd even felt pretty good about it… at least, until he'd bothered to take a step back and watch some of those around him.

His confidence quickly deflated as he took in the other recruits, most having trained in combat before they'd even arrived. It had sunk in then, how unnecessary that first week had been. And Soul was still that far behind.

His confidence certainly didn't build any when Sid announced at the beginning of the second week that since they all knew the basics now, they'd be transitioning into sparring matches. Soul's stomach dropped to the vicinity of his feet, and he did his best to hide behind a larger recruit, as though that would keep him from having to participate. He edged from foot to foot as Barton read off the pairings, hoping against hope that he might be partnered with someone like Kilik - because though Soul knew he wasn't Kilik's favorite person, he'd at least be fair when sparring.

One name in particular caught his attention. "Albarn, Maka with Barrett, Blake."

The blue-haired recruit pumped his fist. "Fuckin' sweet," he crowed. He bounced on the balls of his feet with such unrestrained energy that Soul grew tired just watching him.

"Wonderful," Maka said in a deadpan. She looked to Sid. "You did this on purpose, didn't you."

Sid focused relentlessly on the clipboard in his hand. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but something told Soul that wasn't even remotely true.

"Of course you don't." Maka gave Blake an exasperated look, but couldn't hide the challenging gleam in her eye. "You look awfully excited to have your ass handed to you this early in the morning."

Blake only laughed. "Just looking forward to showing the plebs how it's done." They made their way over to one of the mats, and for a moment, Soul was tempted to ask if he could skip the sparring thing and just watch them duke it out, because there was no way in hell the match could ever be described as boring.

Barton's voice provided a sharp yank back to reality. "Evans, Soul with Cole, Peter."

Soul didn't know Cole well, but what he'd discerned throughout the previous week wasn't giving him any kind of hope. He did well in combat, performing every training exercise with a sneer that suggested exactly what he thought about having to dip back into introductory lessons. Arms corded with muscle crossed over a beefy chest, and he sneered Soul's way. "The fuck kind of a name is Soul?"

Ah, yes. What a refreshing insult. Certainly something he'd never heard before in his life. Ever.

The day got even better as Soul made his way over to his new partner. "Oh, fuckin' A," Cole groaned. "I get the twig."

Privately, Soul wondered if he shouldn't perhaps be celebrating that he'd ended up with one of the weaker recruits, but of course didn't say it aloud.

"Yeah, because I'm thrilled to get stuck with G.I. Joe," Soul shot back with a scowl.

They might have remained standing there for the rest of the morning, trading barbs back in forth, were it not for Sid clearing his throat. "If you'd find your way to a mat…"

Cole turned and walked off, not waiting to see if Soul would follow. When they reached one of the few open mats left, Cole sank into a fighting stance, looking so comfortable that Soul wondered if it would be worth petitioning for a reassignment. "Let's get one thing straight," he growled. "I'm not letting you off easy just 'cause you don't know shit."

"Color me shocked," Soul said dryly, bending his knees as he tried - and probably failed - to emulate Cole's positioning. "I always took you for a bitch slap kind of guy-"

Something solid collided with the left side of Soul's face, snapping his head around, his torso following after. The next thing he registered was his cheek on the floor and a sideways view of the room. His ear rang loudly, almost drowning out the wet thud of his heartbeat.

"Well done," someone said, their voice faint and muted. Soul peeled his face off the floor with effort and saw Barton standing above him, looking pleased. "It's good to strike when your opponent isn't paying attention." He leveled a withering stare at Soul, which he took to mean as _Hey fuckhead, pay attention_.

Soul didn't think it would be wise to mention that he had been. Cole had just moved faster than he'd been able to track, Which didn't bode well for the rest of their two-hour training session.

With great effort, Barton added, "Watch for a shifting of weight - that'll indicate where a blow might originate from." He turned and left before Soul could acknowledge the critique.

Cole watched him without sympathy. "Are you gonna get up, or spend the whole morning down there?"

Soul made a face, winced at the movement, then pushed himself back to standing. Looking back, he probably should have just answered "yes" to the question, because the floor was indeed where he spent the majority of the morning. By the time Sid blew the whistle to signal the end of training, Soul was very sure his body was composed of more bruises than not.

He walked tenderly towards the provided water cooler, each step sending jolts of pain through his limbs. Soul imagined this is what tenderized meat had to feel like.

"Whoa, you don't look so good." Blake bounded up to him, and thought he was soaked in sweat, his energy hadn't diminished in the slightest. e sported a bright pink cheek that would certainly bruise tomorrow, but Soul had a feeling it wouldn't look nearly as vivid.

Irritation boiled up suddenly and spilled over. "Speak for yourself," he snapped, snatching up a water bottle and silently cursing himself for the jerky movement.

Blake was unfazed. "Look, man, if you're having trouble or whatever-"

"I don't need your help; I can do just fine on my own." But Soul couldn't look him in the eye.

Blake was uncharacteristically quiet (at least, as best as Soul could tell), then snorted. "Okay, dude, whatever." He slung a towel over his shoulder and joined the recruits making their way to the showers, calling out for someone as he went.

Soul's chest tightened in discomfort as he watched Blake jog away, but he brushed it aside quickly. He'd only been assigned a bad partner, he told himself. Some extra dedication and a new partnership and he'd get the hang of it. He would.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

...Either that, or Cole had done more damage than originally thought.

* * *

Despite Soul's resolution, doubt invaded the back of his mind and cast a pall over his thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. Though none of the instructors ever let slip any kind of indication of their standing, Soul wasn't an idiot. He knew he wasn't doing well, and despite what he'd told Blake that morning, he was beginning to question whether he'd ever be able to make up the gap on his own. His chest tightened at the thought. Soul had come here for one clear reason, and it was starting to look like he wouldn't be able to remain to see it through.

 _Stein never really promised you answers_ , a small voice in the back of his head reminded him. _Just the opportunity to find them_.

A quiet hope sparked to life. Who said he had to rely on Stein? He'd gotten himself here, hadn't he? To a facility with direct access to CIA databases, no less. The information within might not have been made publicly available to recruits, but that had never stopped him before.

The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed. Why should he wait on the whims of an instructor who might never feel obliged to reveal what he knew, especially when Soul had all the skills he needed to find the information himself?

Resolve strengthened, he let the day pass in an impatient blur, anxious for curfew to arrive. He waited a good hour or so after lights were out and the clatter of getting ready for bed ceased before easing out of bed and silently pressing bare feet to the cold floor. After double checking to make sure Harvar was sound asleep, he crept outside, slipping his shoes on only once he was in the hall.

The hallways were blessedly empty, and Soul only took one wrong turn on his way to the computer lab. The door was locked, but he'd anticipated that. He pulled a plastic case from his pocket and selected two thin metal tools. He slipped them in the lock and began fiddling with them, thanking both that one weekend he'd procrastinated studying for a final by teaching himself lockpicking off Youtube, and that the classroom where they stored the various gadgetry they might use as agents also carried a lockpicking kit.

Of course, Soul was no expert on the subject, so it took several minutes and a few mumbled curses before the lock clicked and the door could open. Soul gave a satisfied little smile as he tucked the case back into his pocket.

The lab was dark, lit only by the rows of slumbering computers. He decided to keep the overhead lights off to avoid alerting anyone passing by with the glow underneath the door. The light from the screens would be enough. Soul picked one at random, sliding into the seat and tapping the spacebar to awaken the machine.

The screensaver cleared, revealing a plain desktop. Soul didn't bother trying to access the database from last week's session, and it only held what it had been designed to. Instead, Soul pulled out a scratched-up red USB drive from his other pocket and plugged it in. He opened it, revealing a list of programs he'd created and compiled in the years he'd spent searching for his brother. He clicked on one titled "Rootkit" and launched it.

The program was designed to give him admin level access to the system, along with all the advantages with it, and no one would be any the wiser.

It wasn't too long before Soul was staring at the cursor blinking the in the search field of the CIA database, waiting for him to input the keywords that might fill that hole he'd carried with him for years.

 _It could tell you he's dead. Just because he joined doesn't mean he's still out there somewhere._

But he would know. Even if the news was terrible, even if reality was completely indifferent to what he found here, it would be worlds better than the uncertainty he had.

So Soul typed in his brother's name and hit enter.

If he'd hoped for a simple task, he was to be disappointed. It was as if the agency decided to scramble up everything they even put in their encoded database, because Soul still had to piece together cryptic entries, some of which looked entirely irrelevant. Sometimes entire pieces would be missing from the search results, leaving him to go digging through folder after folder to find it.

He grit his teeth in frustration, but bore it, if only because he was that much more closer. Every time he saw his brother's name, or his initials, new information about his brother came with it. Tidbits from his recruitment file, transcripts from a polygraph - a picture of his brother was emerging, and Soul barely even recognized it.

The Wes he'd known had been polished, charming, and self-effacing despite their parents' attention. He'd only shot a gun when their mother had dragged him skeet shooting, and he'd have rather played on his Stradivarius than interrogate someone.

At least, Soul had thought so.

The profile he'd begun to build sucked him in completely, rendering him entirely unobservant to his surroundings. As a result, he missed the soft footsteps of someone entering the lab and approaching him from behind.

"Try 'Recruitment Records'" came a soft voice from behind him.

Soul started so hard it was a miracle he didn't lose his seat. He whipped his head around to find Maka watching him innocently. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ," he hissed, clutching his chest as though he could will his heartbeat down to a resting pace. "What are you doing here?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? I'm not the one that snuck into the computer lab after curfew."

"Well, I mean, you are too now. Technically."

A corner of her mouth turned up.

His heartbeat began to drop to normal, and the first thing she'd said to him finally registered. "Recruitment Records, huh?" He clicked on the folder and scanned its contents. Recruiting classes were listed by year, along with every recruit in the class. "How'd you know that?"

Maka shrugged. "If you're looking for someone, it's probably easier to start with the beginning."

Soul might have taken her answer at face value, but something in her voice seemed off. He watched her a little more closely, picking up tiny details: she wouldn't look him in the eye, her fingers played with a loose thread at the hem of her shirt, and a little crease had appeared between her brows. She was hiding something.

"You sound awfully sure about it."

Her tone grew sharp. "It's just a suggestion. You don't have to take it."

The realization hit him quickly, and though he wasn't entirely sure his hunch was correct, he went with it anyway. "You've done this before."

Her shoulders dropped from her ears. "I might have gone digging for someone's records before."

"Your dad's? I'd be more than a little interested to see what might be in the head instructor's file."

If she was surprised that Soul had pieced together her and Spirit's relationship, she didn't show it. "Yep, that was it. Wanted to find the skeletons in his closet."

Her answer came far too quickly for that to be the truth. "Okay, now I know that's not it." He ignored her irritated huff and turned back to the computer, quickly typing in Maka's surname into the search bar. He excluded her own files, as well as her files. Surprisingly, the list of results remained substantial. Soul found a recruitment file dated around the same time as Spirit's and opened it.

A page of text filled the screen, but Soul's attention was on the color photograph in the corner. An angular face met his stare with green eyes the exact shade of Maka's. Thin brown hair tumbled past her shoulders. There was no mistaking her relation.

He looked back at Maka, but found her lost in the photograph. Her breath had caught, and for a moment, Soul felt a little guilty for dredging up something that was obviously a sore spot for her.

"You were looking for her, weren't you?" he asked softly.

Maka only nodded, gaze still locked on her mother's image.

The next few moments played out clearly in his head. He could apologize, clear out of the database, and they could leave the encounter behind like nothing more than a bad dream. Or…

Soul minimized the file and brought up one that was strikingly similar, save for the picture. "Join the club," he said softly.

She might have had an inkling from watching over her shoulder before, but she clearly hadn't been expecting him to confirm it so baldly. She looked between him and the picture a couple of times, then said, "I can see the resemblance."

"Ditto."

She pulled out the chair next to him and took a seat. "What happened?"

Soul related what little he knew, from his brother's sudden absences and excuses to the accident that didn't add up and concluding with Stein's visit and offer. She frowned as he mentioned the redacted page he'd pieced together from the USB drive. "If he's a NOC," she said, "you won't be able to find anything on him very easily. They wipe most of your records out once you're assigned a non-official cover. At least, until your assignment is over."

Soul sucked on a tooth. "I was worried about that. Is that what happened with your mom?"

Maka tensed, but he could see her force herself to relax and answer. "I'm not sure. All my father told me was that she went MIA about ten years ago. Since then she's been presumed dead. I wondered if maybe she was a NOC back then, but he won't tell me."

"Is that why he didn't want you to come here?"

She shot him a sideways look. "Nosy, aren't we?"

Soul shrugged. "Am I not supposed to listen in on one of my instructors having an argument at spy school?"

She rolled her eyes. "If you must know, that's a part of it, yes."

"But you're here now."

"Clearly."

"To try and find her?"

Her glare was icy, but Soul didn't back down. It softened just a little as she said, "Looks like I'm not alone in my motivation."

Soul didn't answer, but he didn't really have to. As he went back to combing through the database, with Maka now looking over his shoulder, he considered this new information. Here he'd been, barreling through training with his blinders on, so determined to fulfill his one goal. The last thing he'd expected was to encounter someone here for the same reasons. He'd known Maka was determined, had seen that fiery spark in her eyes from the beginning. He wondered if someone might notice the same in his own, and doubted it.

Maybe he could learn from her, if she let him. Maybe they'd both find the answers they were looking for.


	4. Chapter 4

Soul continued to be dismal at combat, but at least Sid had seen the wisdom in pairing him with partners that weren't likely to leave him with a concussion at the end of the session. Barton, however, was strongly against the idea, arguing that there was no place for coddling at Shibusen. Sid had only replied that Shibusen was first and foremost a training program, and that pairing Soul solely with partners who were as experienced as Cole wouldn't teach him anything besides being a punching bag. Barton had relented after that, but Soul could tell he still wasn't happy about it. Soul, however, was very pleased by this turn of events, as it meant he was actually starting to learn things instead of merely dodging as best he could.

Kilik was, unsurprisingly, a very competent partner, and was willing to walk Soul through some of the combinations and moves. He still beat Soul soundly every single match, but Soul always walked away knowing more than when he started.

The true surprise was Blake. When Soul heard he was to be paired with the brash, loud-mouthed recruit, he groaned internally and braced himself for a thorough pummeling. Instead, what he found was entirely different.

Sure, Blake was one of the best fighters in their class, and if he really wanted, he could have had Soul pinned to the ground in under five seconds flat. But, as Blake himself put it, "What's the fun in destroying someone who can't even hold their own?"

"Thanks, man," Soul said glumly.

Blake only laughed and clapped him on the back so hard Soul's knees nearly buckled. "Dude, no biggie! Every master has to start somewhere." He cracked his knuckles and sank into a ready stance. "Now, let's see what you've got."

The answer was not much. However, instead of simply dodging out of the way and dealing the few blows it would take to end the sparring match, Blake only watched Soul throw his punches and brought up a hand to catch them. He guided Soul on which areas to guide a blow, how to hold his fist so his wrist wouldn't buckle when it landed, and how to distribute his weight so he wouldn't overbalance. Toward the end of the session, the fight morphed into something more serious, and Blake beat Soul soundly. But Soul managed to walk away with less bruises than he'd gained when partnered with Cole, and Blake even left him with a few extra tips.

In the end, it had turned out better than Soul could have dared hope for.

However, Soul didn't always end up with partners who were so willing to guide him through some of the trickier moves. He often still found himself paired with recruits like Cole, who knew they excelled in combat and were more than happy to prove themselves in the front of the instructors at Soul's expense.

Soul, understandably, was starting to reach the end of his rope.

It all came to a head one day a few weeks into training. Soul was paired with Peter Cole once more, who looked more than a little eager to pound Soul into the mat again.

Resignedly, Soul took his place at one end of the mat, hoping but not really expecting that the new skills he'd developed courtesy of Kilik and Blake might make some kind of difference in the match.

Cole struck just like he had the first time they'd sparred, but this time Soul was ready for him. He ducked to the right just enough to watch Cole's fist sail by his nose. He didn't wait around to see what Cole would do next, and sank a fist into his opponent's gut.

A surprised wheeze escaped Cole's lips, but he didn't stay winded long. His face contorted into such a look of hate, Soul almost took a step backwards. He tried to stay alert, to watch where Cole might go next like Blake had stressed, but getting a punch in had seemed to rile Cole up to a level Soul hadn't seen before. Soul wondered if it would have been smarter to just take the original beating, because what was coming looked like nothing he'd seen before.

Cole came after him with a fury that was unpredictable. His fists connected with Soul's stomach, his face, his back. Soul could barely catch his breath, could hardly time when to move and when to stay where he was.

He was losing. Badly.

In between dodging whatever blows he could, he noticed that they'd drawn a crowd. Both Barton and Sid were watching as well as several of the partners who'd been sparring nearby. He could see Sid approaching the two of the as if to call it off, but Barton held a hand out to keep him back. The other instructor wanted to see the end of the fight, regardless of the brutality. Blake, too, was among those gathered, and though Soul could see him trying to say something, his ears were ringing from a blow to his head, and he couldn't make out the words.

Cole kicked the back of his knee, sending Soul crashing to the ground. He managed to flip around to his back just in time for Cole to pin one of his arms against the mat and press a knee to his throat.

It was the most brutal defeat Soul had endured. And judging on his performance thus far, he wasn't sure he would last much longer in the program. He could see the end of his time here, and he hated it. This was not how he had wanted his tenure here to go.

Something dug into his leg, jolting him from his defeated thoughts. His free arm scrabbled across the mat until it brushed against his pocket and the small box within.

Yesterday they'd had their chance to examine some of the gadgets agents sometimes carried with them, one of which included a taser-like weapon that could discharge a stunning shock intended to disorient an opponent. Soul had stored it in his pocket during the session and apparently had forgotten to return it. Now, it might serve as his salvation.

He didn't even hesitate. His hand slipped inside, grasping the box tightly as Cole demanded from above him that he yield. Soul merely grinned, infuriating him more. But before Cole could press in any farther, Soul brought his free hand up in one swift motion and pressed it against Cole's thigh, pressing the button to release a discharge of electricity straight into him.

The effect was immediate. Cole tensed, rearing back as the energy coursed through him. His knee released its pressure, allowing Soul to suck in the air he needed. Before Cole could reorient himself, Soul bucked off the floor, sending his opponent off-balance.

He turned on the offensive, aiming punches and kicks wherever he could, as fact as he could. The last thing he could do was let Cole gather himself and turn the tide, so Soul became as relentless as he could. He sidestepped a feeble attempt at a charge, driving his elbow right between Cole's shoulder blades. He dropped to the ground, and Soul followed after him. He leaned his weight on his leg, trapping Cole face down on the ground, twisting his arm back to effectively keep him pinned.

The only sound in the room was Soul's panting. Then: " _Hell yeah!_ " Blake pumped the air. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Some of the others applauded, but most simply dispersed and went back to their own mats. Soul let up Cole, who looked absolutely murderous. For a half second Soul wondered if he might charge him, regardless of the match being over, but he only stomped away, other recruits giving him a wide berth as he moved. Only Sid and Barton remained, the former looking almost impressed and the latter looking furious.

"Evans, what do you call that?" he asked tightly, looking pointedly at the taser lying abandoned on the mat.

"What do you call this?" Soul pointed to his bruised and mottled face. "I don't remember sparring being quite so brutal."

Barton frowned. "That was a fair fight. Until you decided to break the rules."

Soul snorted. "That wasn't a fair fight and you know it. And I don't remember you saying anything against outside tools." He turned to Sid. "Unless I'm mistaken?"

Sid regarded him with a new appreciation. "You're correct; that wasn't explicitly stated. Perhaps we need to amend the rules then, Barton?"

The other instructor looked desperately like he wanted to protest, but he didn't have a position to stand on and he knew it. So he only nodded. "Very well." But he fixed Soul with a look that said he wouldn't forget what Soul had done, and that he very well might be sorry about it later.

Soul couldn't really find it in himself to care.

* * *

Things started to change bit by bit after that fateful match. Blake was convinced that it was his tutelage that had led to Soul's memorable win, and would brag about it to anyone who would listen. Kilik as well came up to congratulate him, and even went so far as to offer him time to practice between sessions and during what little free time they had. Soul recognized the offer for what it was, and gratefully accepted. Blake overheard their conversation and gleefully invited himself along, and though Kilik and Soul made a show of moaning and groaning about it, neither of them minded his presence.

His success against Cole seemed to open doors some of the others had been reluctant to step through, and Soul knew he hadn't helped in that regard. So he made a bit more of an effort, accepting help and extending offers of his own. Some were accepted, some were not.

One such example was the recruit who had argued with Blake so long ago on the bus there. Soul learned his name was Ox, and he'd been recruited for much the same reason as Soul - he excelled in computer programming and hacking, but hadn't used them to the dubious extent Soul had. As a result, there was friction between the two, and a desire to prove themselves as the better in the field. When it came to any computer skills, the two were neck and neck. However, Soul began to see the competition as something more friendly than anything else.

Surprisingly, Ox had quickly made friends with Soul's roommate, Harvar. Soul wasn't sure how the connection had been made, but the two were friendly and often paired together whenever the option was given. Despite sharing a room with him, Soul didn't know much about Harvar, only that he'd worked as a translator for the military and spoke an absurd number of languages. He was quiet for the most part, but had an uncanny ability to insert a dry comment into a conversation when you least expected it.

Another quiet recruit Soul came to know was Jackie, a soft-spoken girl with deep purple hair who had a knack for noticing the smallest detail in the busiest room. No one could match her for recall, to the point where Soul asked her once if she had a eidetic memory. Jackie had merely smiled and changed the subject, leaving Soul just as mystified as before.

Jackie had made friends with Kim, the pink-haired girl who had called Soul out on the bus. He'd been dead set on avoiding her, but the rotating fashion of the pairings made that well nigh impossible. They were matched up for an exercise involving disguise and blending in. Their conversation was stilted at first, especially on Soul's side. It didn't help that after she'd donned a long, black wig, something about her looked strangely familiar. Finally, she confronted him about it. "Stop looking at me like that," she'd snapped. "Do I have something on my face?"

He'd shaken his head. "With that wig on, you look kind of familiar and I don't know why."

To his surprise, she'd startled at her statement. "You know why, don't you?" he'd asked.

She'd flushed and ducked her head down. "We might have met before," she'd admitted.

Soul thought his eyes might bug out of his head. "Excuse me?"

She'd waved a hand in dismissal. "Only for like, two seconds, so don't get all bent out of shape over it."

But he wouldn't drop it, and kept pressing her for details. Finally, she'd thrown her hands up in defeat. "Alright, fine! It was one of those fundraising dinners the Reinharts' liked to throw every year. I scammed my way in and picked a few pockets and purses while I was there. You bumped into me in one of the back hallways. I'm not surprised you don't remember; you looked bored out of your mind."

Soul vaguely remembered the party she described; he had indeed been bored out of his mind, and hadn't been paying any particular attention to anyone there. But if she'd been at a Reinhart gala, she'd probably seen…

She'd seemed to read his mind then. "I met your brother, too," she'd said softly. "He was one of the few to actually notice and talk to me that night. I'm sorry," she'd added a moment later, and though Soul normally hated hearing that from anyone, for some reason he hadn't minded hearing it from her.

From then on, they were on friendlier terms. Soul recognized it was probably lonely, living as she had, and she had thought him just like the pompous bigwigs who frequented events like that. But now that that assumption had been cleared up, they got along fine.

Kim wasn't the only one he'd met long ago in the recruitment process that he came to know better throughout the weeks. Liz, who he'd talked to briefly before the psychological testing, had also made the cut. He found this out during their first session with firearms, where Azusa, the weapons instructor, made them demonstrate what skill they had with a gun. If they missed their target, they were removed from the firing line to watch the more skilled recruits progress. Slowly, recruit after recruit fell back, until only three recruits remained: Liz, her younger sister Patti, and a quieter woman named Tsubaki. In the end, Liz narrowly beat out her sister for the title of resident sharpshooter.

Her sister, Patti, was a bit more of a wild card than her sister, and got along with Blake like a house on fire. She was one of the few who could beat him in a fight, something Blake seemed to love and hate at the same time. Patti's specialty, though, as far as Soul could tell, was explosives, something that did not surprise Soul at all. They'd never been allowed access to materials like that, however, so her skill had yet to be fully demonstrated.

Tsubaki, the other recruit with some considerable skill with a firearm, was also incredibly proficient with any and all weapons they were presented with throughout training. Soul was left to wonder if there was anything she couldn't fight with, and had come to the conclusion that she could likely kill a man with a paperclip should she so choose. Despite her deadly skills, she was an incredibly gentle soul, soft-spoken, yet unyielding in her resolve. She also seemed to be one of the only ones who could control Blake when he was on a rampage - one quiet word from her and he would immediately forget whatever he'd been focused on, turning instead to her and the calm aura she projected.

Aside from Tsubaki, the only other one who Blake seemed inclined to listen to was Maka, and Soul thought that was likely due to their shared history. Of all of them, Maka was the most at home at Shibusen, having grown up in facilities just like it, surrounded by their instructors and other spooks and spies. The tests they endured seemed natural to her, as though she'd been born into the life. And yet despite her success, she still made time to join him in the computer lab, guiding him in his search for his brother. When she wasn't looking, Soul slipped in a search or two for her mother, figuring it was the least he could do to repay her for her help. But he never found anything substantial, but despite the failure, he still looked forward to every time they slipped into the lab, spending the next few hours searching and talking and wondering.

And though all of them were incredibly different, all from such different backgrounds, they came together into a little group. More and more they found themselves spending time together, helping each other out when paired together, and even hanging out whenever they had the rare hour of free time. Sometimes they tried exploring the facility, led by Blake and Maka, who knew it so well. Other times they trained each other, helping those who lacked skill in one area or another. It wasn't what Soul had expected upon entering this training, and he was pretty sure they were going against everything Shibusen was supposed to be teaching them, but he secretly through their way was better.

After all, what did it matter if you had the skills if you didn't have the backup you needed. No matter how good an agent was, they were nothing without a good support system.

At least, that was what Soul thought.

* * *

Soul fell into bed gratefully after a particularly draining day, his muscles aching from sparring that morning, his mind exhausted from the logic puzzles Stein had subjected them to that afternoon. Though they were still required to wake early for their daily forest run, Soul looked forward to every minute of sleep he could get.

So of course, someone began banging on all the doors in the men's dorm around an hour later. Soul groaned, digging his face further into his pillow. "I'm sick," he mumbled to no one, his voice muffled. He faked a pitiful cough. "Can't do it."

Harvar snorted as he pulled on a pair of pants and slipped on his shoes. "Don't think they're gonna buy that."

"Worth a shot," Soul said as he pushed himself up with great effort. He blinked wearily, then began dressing. "The hell are we even doing at," - he checked the clock on the nightstand - "eleven at night?"

Harvar shrugged. "Guess we'll find out."

They left their room to find the other male recruits milling around in the hall, talking among themselves as they wondered what was going on. Sid stood near the corner, watching as the crowd gathered. Finally, he cut through the chatter. "Everyone here? Follow me."

He led them to the front of the facility, then eventually outside, where a couple of vans idled in the front drive. Sid ushered them in, and those who climbed in the front van found Spirit waiting for them. The door slammed shut, and without a word Spirit drove them away from the facility and down one of the rural roads leading out of the river valley.

A few of the recruits asked about where they might be going, but Spirit declined to answer. No one minded much, as they were all a little excited to be getting off campus. When they finally pulled into their destination, however, the anticipation morphed into confusion. Spirit had taken them to a bar, but no one really thought he was actually taking them out for drinks. So then, what were they here to do?

Spirit didn't leave them wondering for long. He turned in the driver's seat, eyeing them up before speaking. "The goal of any good agent is to extract information without getting caught. The best of them can get the answers they need without the target even realizing it. That involves manipulating your target and getting them to do or tell you whatever you want. So we're going to practice that."

"How are we going to do that?" Ox asked. "It's not like anybody here is carrying state secrets or anything like that."

Spirit nodded. "No, they're not. But we're not trying to get information. Your goal is to go inside, find a target, and convince them to leave with you. You have two hours to do this."

No one knew what to say to that. Spirit wanted them to seduce someone? It didn't feel right.

He took in their confusion and skepticism. "We're testing your ability to manipulate a complete stranger. You have to go in, gain their trust, and get them to leave with you. We don't care how you do it, only that within the time limit, you leave that bar with someone."

Still no one moved.

Spirit sighed and looked down at his watch. "And time has started, so unless you want the extra challenge of trying to do it from inside the van…"

Everyone scrambled over each other to climb out of the van. The door slid shut behind them and Spirit pulled the van into a corner of the parking lot, leaving the group standing around in front of the bar. Some ran inside immediately, but Soul took a moment to consider what had been asked of him. Of all the tests they'd undergone so far, he dreaded this one the most. Asking him to spar with another recruit, to lie, to disguise himself, to hack into a database, to identify and trail a target - he had no problem with that. But to involve someone who was oblivious to the testing, well, he felt much less enthusiasm for it.

He'd have to get used to it, though, wouldn't he? Every mission he went on, should he make it through training, would involve civilians, so he would have to stomach it now so he'd be able to complete whatever objectives he'd be asked of later on.

Shoving the thoughts down, he crossed the parking lot and climbed the few steps onto the porch in front of the bar before plunging inside.

The bar was surprisingly sizeable given its location, but small enough to give the atmosphere a cozy feel. The lights were dim, though whether the effect was through choice or neglect was hard to determine. The bar stretched along the length of the right-hand wall, with a few tables tucked into the corners. The center would normally be clear and open, if the floor hadn't held scattered groups and couples dancing. More tables lined the left hand wall; a staircase tucked into the back corner led up to a balcony that wrapped around the upper floor, leaving the middle exposed. Heavy wood columns stretched up to embrace exposed rafters - an effect not entirely unexpected in a rural Virginia bar.

The people were no less unexpected. Some were blue collar workers taking advantage of likely the only decent drinking establishment nearby, but the bar's strategic location to the interstate ensured that most of the patrons were only staying the night, and probably would never set foot through the door again. Soul's lips quirked. Their instructors could not have picked a more suitable testing ground.

While he surveyed the place, the others parted around him and disappeared into the (surprisingly) thick crowd, no doubt determined to prove their worth to Spirit. Soul, however, was not quite so quick to please.

The assignment continued to rub him the wrong way, and he still couldn't even begin to imagine how he might complete it. He had never in his life been comfortable with going into a bar with the express purpose of leaving with a stranger. It'd never interested him previously, and despite his current choice in profession, the idea was no more appealing to him now. It was one thing to charm someone for a span of inane conversation, another thing entirely to convince them to leave with you.

Soul moved away from the entrance and leaned casually against one of the thick wooden columns. His eyes flitted across the patrons, assessing and dismissing one after another. Groups wouldn't be ideal, and couples were of course out of the question. Someone traveling alone, who appeared like they might be looking for company…

He spotted a girl sitting at the corner of the bar and took a moment to eye her critically. She was pretty in an understated way, with thin brown hair and large, dark eyes. A beer bottle rested on the bar in front of her, the glass sweating with condensation. Every so often she took a mouthful from it. After every sip, she would scan the room, not in that directed way of looking for someone specific, but a more general, aimless perusal. If he had to guess, she looked like she was hoping for someone to approach her, or even for someone she could approach himself. At least, Soul hoped he was accurate. Worst case, he'd move on and try to find someone else, though the thought left a sour twist in his stomach.

He started for the seat next to her, hoping that his arrival would spark some kind of conversation. His mind began flipping through potential dialogues, because the honesty of "Hi, I'm on a mission to pretend I want to get into your pants, interested?" just didn't seem to cut it, funnily enough.

He never got the chance to make that decision, however, because a small group of guys peels away from the bar, opening his view up to the small table tucked away in the far corner, and the partially shadowed figure playing with a dark brown bottle who sat there.

Soul's feet changed direction before he even realized he'd made the decision to. He made a beeline for the table, stopping directly in front of the table. Maka looked up, setting her bottle down and squinting through the dim, hazy light of the bar. "Soul?" she asked, sounding more than a little surprised to see him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, dropping into the seat across from her.

Maka shrugged and picked at the label on her drink. "Taking a night off, I guess." She sighed, leaning back to stretch out the muscles in her neck. "I knew this program wouldn't be easy; I was excited for it, actually. But to go at that pace for so long... " She sat back up to meet his gaze. "I guess I just wanted a night where I didn't have to worry about being tested for once."

"Yeah." Soul blew out a breath. "I get that. But how did you sneak out?"

She leveled him with a disbelieving stare. "I practically grew up here; you really think I couldn't find my way out if I wanted to?"

"Fair point; stupid question."

"What about you? How did you manage to get away?"

 _Shit_ , he hadn't thought of that. A roar of laughter came from the bar, and for the first time, Soul silently thanked Blake for his overbearing presence. "Blake wanted out and dragged a few of us with him," he fibbed quickly, internally patting himself on the back. That would explain the presence of the other male recruits, if Maka happened to notice them.

And it was a believable story, judging from the nod Maka gave. "Yeah, he doesn't do well cooped up."

Soul shook his head. "Y'know, I still don't really understand how Blake of all people got recruited."

Maka took a swig from her drink. "You've probably realized he's got a connection to this place like I do?"

Soul nodded.

"Sid and Nygus took him in when he was little, so he and I both grew up here. It was sort of assumed that we'd both join up when we could, despite what my dad always said."

"I mean, I get that, but he's…" A crash punctuated Soul's words. He winced, then gave Maka a relatively knowing look.

"Understandable. Blake's loud, irritating, pretty much the opposite of anything you'd want in a spy?"

Soul nodded.

"You're not wrong. But he's been working with you on hand-to-hand for a while now, hasn't he?"

"Yeah. And I know where you're going with this - he's a damn good teacher when he wants to be."

"Blake may talk a lot of shit, but he can back it up most of the time. I'm telling you, if I'm ever out in the field, I trust Blake to have my back every time, hands down." She took a long pull from the bottle, finishing it. "Be right back." She squeezed between the table and the wall, then headed to the bar for a refill.

Soul mulled over her words. She'd known Blake longer than he, and would be a better judge of his character, but what she was saying made sense. If Soul were ever in a tight spot, he didn't think there'd be anyone better than Blake to get him out of it.

...Provided that tight spot didn't require much stealth.

Maka returned quickly with a fresh bottle and retook her seat. She picked at the soggy label once more as Soul asked, "Does he know about your mom? Blake, I mean?"

She nodded. "Most of it. She disappeared a few years after he showed up, so he did know her for a bit. And he knows that I looked for her, once I was older and skilled enough to try. But he doesn't know that I still poke around when I can. I decided to keep that to myself."

"But you told me," Soul pointed out.

Maka took a long drink, then stared pensively at the bottle. "I did." She set it back down on the table, fingers fidgeting as she shredded the label into tinier and tinier pieces. "I've never told anyone else that."

"So, that begs the question… why me?"

Maka was quiet for a long moment. "You know, I ask myself that a lot. I barely knew you, and yet I tell you something my father doesn't even know. But… you get it, what that's like. You're the only person who probably ever could. That's why I told you."

"Do you ever regret it?"

A strange look passed over Maka's face, one Soul couldn't interpret. "No. Do you?"

Soul shook his head. "Of course not." He watched her as she took another drink, appreciating the rare chance to observe Maka with her guard down. Something occurred to him then, and he asked, "What's she like?"

Maka shot him a curious look.

"I only mean… you look for someone this long, sometimes they start to blur into just names and dates and facts. I know a lot about your mother, and yet you never talk about what she's like as a person."

She huffed a short laugh. "Now that you mention it…" She trailed off, gaze going distant as she became lost in her memories. Her hands stilled on the damp drink label. "She was quiet," Maka said finally. "But not in a shy way. You had the sense that she was watching everything so, so closely, and when she finally did say something, it felt so important you couldn't help but drop everything and listen." She smiled wistfully. "And she was fierce. I could feel that, even when I was little."

"She sounds incredibly suited for this job," Soul commented, unable to look away as Maka continued to recall her childhood.

"Yeah. She and my father started as partners. They worked well together. My father could charm anyone, but my mother was the one who could get things done without leaving a hair out of place. Or so my father tells me." She grimaced, then took a sip of beer, as though washing down a bitter taste.

"You don't believe him?"

"No, I do. I just… their relationship wasn't the steadiest one. It's not an easy realization to make when you grow up."

Soul nodded. "That's understandable."

She shifted in her seat, leaning forward on her arms to pin her gaze on Soul. "Okay, now it's your turn. What about your brother?"

Soul shook his head, leaning back as Wes' image sprang up in his mind. "Wes… he was just one of those people where everything came so naturally to them, you know? Like everything he touched turned to gold, but he was so laid back and easygoing that it was impossible for you to hate him for it. And I tried to."

"But you got along?"

"Strangely, yeah. My parents expected the world of both of us, but only Wes was really ever able to satisfy them. I wasn't ever good enough, but Wes saw that, and sometimes was able to protect me from that. He just… he cared. About anything and everything. He had a way of talking to you, that, for at least a little while, where you felt like you were the only one that mattered in the world." Soul's voice got thick, and he cleared his throat as he looked down. In all these years, he'd never once talked about his brother. He hadn't anticipated how it would feel to dredge those memories back up.

"He sounds like a pretty good brother."

Soul chuckled. "Ah, he could be a pain in the ass, too."

Maka smirked. " _Your_ brother, a pain in the ass? He couldn't be." Her smile was still evident even as she finished her drink.

"You're hilarious," Soul remarked dryly. "Really, I'm dying here."

Maka laughed quietly and shook her head. "Tell me more about him."

Their conversation continued along that vein, swapping stories about the ones they searched for. Soul became lost in the lull of conversation, and it was only when Maka left to get a fifth drink that panic jolted down his spine.

The test. He'd forgotten all about it.

He frantically checked his watch, and to his simultaneous horror and relief, saw that only thirty minutes remained until Spirit's deadline. Not ideal, but he could probably work with it. Maybe.

When Maka returned, Soul made a point of checking his watch. "It's getting a little late," he said, pushing back his chair to stand up. "I should probably be heading back. Don't want to lose time on the run tomorrow."

Maka checked her own watch, her eyebrows flying up. "Oh, shit, I forgot," she murmured.

"Eh, you'll be fine," Soul said. "You're the fastest of us all."

Maka stood up and squeezed past the table once more, but stumbled just as she passed Soul. He caught her arm to steady her, suddenly much too aware of how close the side of her body was to his. They paused, caught in a frozen moment in time.

"Thanks," she said quietly. She was close enough that wam, sugar-sweet breath washed across his cheek.

"Yeah," he said thickly, releasing her belatedly.

She wouldn't stop looking at him, but he couldn't quite read her expression. Her wall was coming back up, but maybe not all the way.

"Are you alright?" he asked, suddenly remembering the drinks she'd had.

"M'fine," she said. She tried to pass him, but looked a little unsteady on her feet. He wasn't sure how many she'd consumed before he'd arrived, but regardless, she was petite and he wasn't comfortable with her going back to Shibusen as she was.

"Here, let me call you a cab." Soul pulled his cell out of his pocket. A quick google and phone call later, a cab was on its way to the bar. "You can just have them drop you nearby," he said. "Probably better than walking the whole way in the dark."

Throughout the whole thing, Maka just continued to watch him silently. "What?" he finally asked. "You had a few beers."

"I know," she sighed. "Just wanted a night off from these stupid goddamn tests."

"I thought you liked the tests. Something about challenging yourself."

"I do. But some of them…" She huffed out a gust of breath. "They're stupid. And I don't like them."

"So you thought you'd drink to forget them?"

She met his gaze directly. "Something like that."

A tingle wound its way up his spine. Soul shoved the sensation to the back of his mind as he tucked one hand through Maka's elbow. "Let's head outside to wait for cab, alright?" If he was lucky, he'd still have a little time to try and complete Spirit's test, but he wouldn't be torn up if he didn't. One failed test wasn't going to send him home. Besides, his evening had turned out better than he'd hoped for anyway.

"Soul?" Maka looked up at him as they passed the bar, now missing one Blake Barrett (and all the quieter for it).

"Yeah?"

"You trust too much. Has anyone ever told you that?"

The observation struck him, and he tilted his head as he thought about it. "Um, no, I can't say that they have."

"Well. You do."

"Thanks?"

Maka shook her head. "You need to be more careful about that."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They passed through the doors of the bar and into the crisp night air. The hair on the back of Soul's neck stood up, and even though the bar had been on the brink of stifling all night, he found himself almost immediately missing the warmth.

Barely halfway into the parking lot, a pair of headlights flashed on, highlighting several other couples dotting the gravel lot. Soul held a hand up to shield his eyes, peering at the car tucked away at the end. As his eyes adjusted, he realized it wasn't a car, but a van - and not just any van. It was the partner to the vehicle that awaited Soul on the other side of the lot.

Maka straightened up and stepped away, suddenly much more sure on her feet. Soul turned towards her, and the look on her face gave it away instantly.

It wasn't just the boys who'd been woken in the middle of the night for the test.

And Soul had walked right out with her.

His stomach sank as the night's events flashed back through his mind. Maka, camped out in a corner where she could easily pick out whatever mark she wanted. Ripping the drink labels as soon as she got them in order to hide what she was drinking. The sugar-y soda smell of her breath. The looks she'd given him. And her warning: _You trust too much_.

And to think, he'd believed the night had turned out well.


	5. Chapter 5

Soul's stomach dropped somewhere to the vicinity of his feet when he saw the equipment laid out on the interrogation table the next morning. A small voice piped up that his worries might be in vain, but was quickly quashed when Stein began speaking.

"We've mentioned polygraph testing before, but today is when we put that to practical use. You'll be partnered up - one to interrogate, the other to attempt lying through the polygraph. First up will be -"

Soul knew the names before they could even leave Stein's mouth.

"-Evans and Albarn. Evans, you'll be interrogating."

Oh, even _better_.

He avoided Maka's gaze as they stood up and approached the front of the room. He took a seat on one side and appeared totally absorbed in the file on the table in front of him while a technician fitted the various straps and wires onto Maka.

He could ask her, if he wanted to. This would be the time, wouldn't it? It was their first attempt at cheating the polygraph, so there was a chance she wouldn't be able to lie her way out of it. A chance that he could look her in the eye and ask, _Why me? Of all the decisions… why me?_

His mouth tasted bitter at the thought. Maka was strapped to a _polygraph_ , for fuck's sake. In front of their entire recruiting class. The exercise was already a little fucked up, and he was contemplating making it worse? No, he couldn't ask her.

And if he was being totally honest, part of him didn't even want to.

But he had to ask her something, and it still had to be good. Something that would still be tough enough to test her. His fingers brushed against the file on the table. With a jolt, he realized the paper he was staring at, unseeing, was in fact Maka's recruitment file. Her headshot, clipped to the top corner, scowled back at him. Green eyes, even full of fire through the paper grain, seemed to dare him. _Do it_ , they said. _Give me whatever you've got. I'll give it right back._

"Alright," the technician said, tapping a few keys on the computer in front of her. "I'll just ask a few questions to calibrate the responses, and you'll be free to begin with the session."

Soul nodded vaguely, tuning out the mundane questions and answers that came from the other side of the table. He scanned through Maka's file quickly, taking note of her scores and assessments. Nothing he didn't already know, but… there could be something there that might be useful. He reached her entrance questionnaire, same as the one he'd submitted after the litany of tests prior to their arrival. One question in particular struck a chord: _Why do you want to join Shibusen?_

He smiled. _Perfect._

"We're all set," the technician said. "Ready when you are."

Finally, Soul looked up and gazed at Maka head-on. She lifted her chin a little, a challenge, a stubborn cast to her eyes. She thought she knew exactly what he was going to ask her, which actually worked out in his favor. "Why did you apply to Shibusen?" he asked abruptly.

It was exactly as he anticipated. Maka leaned back just a little, her eyebrows twitching together. "What?"

"Yes or no questions only, sir," the technician reminded him.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "My apologies." He turned back to Maka. "In your entrance questionnaire, you said you wanted to join Shibusen out of a sense of duty, and to protect others. Is this true?"

"Yes," Maka said. Doubt drew her lips together.

The technician read something on the screen, then nodded. "Truth."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Yes."

The computer beeped.

"A lie, I'm guessing," Soul said.

Maka shrugged, still a little confused. "Applying for something like Shibusen, there can be lots of reasons. You want to list every little one?"

"That won't be necessary." He brushed it off with a wave of his hand and changed direction. "Was there anyone upset by your applying to Shibusen?"

He was almost impressed by her lack of expression, because Maka had surely caught on to his line of questioning by then. The only indication was a slight tightening of her eyes. "No," she attempted.

The computer beeped again. Soul lifted an eyebrow.

"Yes," she amended. "My father wasn't too happy about it."

"Your father." Soul pretended to search through her file. "And your father's name is Spirit, isn't it?"

A series of murmurs sprung up behind him.

"Yes," Maka said through gritted teeth.

"The same Spirit that's head instructor for our class?"

"You know he is."

"I'm sorry, yes or no answers only."

"Yes."

The murmurs increased, but were cut off when Stein spoke up. "I believe these sessions are for observation, not commentary."

Soul continued. "Why was your father against you applying?"

Maka opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by the technician. "Yes or no-"

"Right, right, sorry. Was your father's opposition because of something that happened to your family because of Shibusen? Something to do with your mother, perhaps?"

If gazes could have held any physical force, Maka's might have drilled a hole through his forehead. "You'd have to ask him."

"Answer the question, please."

"No."

 _Beep._

"Is that right?" Soul made a show of checking the file, all too aware of Maka's eyes on him. He might have been acting like a bit of a dick, but he felt a little entitled to it after last night. Besides, he wasn't going as personal as he could have been. For what little consolation that gave him. "Because it says here your mother was an agent who went AWOL. She's been presumed dead for over ten years. Am I correct?"

The answer he received is quiet. "Yes."

"Did you join Shibusen to follow in her footsteps?"

"Yes."

Here came the question he'd been debating over, the one he wasn't sure if he should ask. He could stop now; what he'd done is enough to please Stein. But there was still that tiny spark in Maka's eye, the one that always dared him to go a step farther. If he hadn't seen that little nudge, he wouldn't do it, but he thought she could take a little more.

"Do you believe your mother is dead?"

"Yes."

He held his breath in the silence that followed. The seconds ticked by, each one louder than the last, as the technician peered at the glowing screen in front of her, sorting through the various readouts. Finally - "Truth," the technician declared, and Soul's heart leapt in his chest.

Because he knew what the machine didn't.

Maka had lied.

He schooled his expression into something neutral as he flipped the file shut. "That's all I have." Stein nodded. Soul pushed back the chair and stood up. Before he turned to make his way back to his seat, he caught sight of the look Maka gave him. His shoulders slumped and he sighed internally, because despite the grilling he'd just put her through, he knew she wasn't happy with the direction he took. He won't hear the end of it from her, even if he was lucky to escape after the morning's session.

So much for avoiding the topic.

* * *

Sure enough, she cornered him in the hallway after the session ended. Kilik shot him a sympathetic look while Blake waggled his eyebrows and snickered before Tsubaki took his forearm and dragged him away. Maka didn't pay either of them any attention. Her fiery gaze was pinned on him, nostrils flared and cheeks stained a blotchy pink. "I can handle myself just fine," she hissed, pointing an accusatory finger. "I don't need you to go easy on me."

"Was that what I was doing?" Soul asked mildly. "I thought airing the family's dirty laundry didn't fall into that category, but apparently I was mistaken."

"That wasn't the question you wanted to ask and you know it."

He did. _Why me?_ It rattled in his mind like a church bell, impossible to ignore. It was all he'd heard since last night. With no small amount of difficulty, he pushed it away, instead pretending that he hadn't been wrestling with it since the moment bright headlights flooded his vision. "Isn't it?"

Her foot shifted involuntarily against the floor, like she was barely managing to keep from stomping it. "Stein said to ask the hardest questions. To pry. To make it _hard_. And we both know what question you should have started with."

"What question is that?"

For the first time, she faltered. Doubt flickered in her eyes for the briefest moment. "You know," she said quietly. "Don't lie to me." _Please_ , went unspoken, but heard nonetheless.

Soul sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. This was exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid. "What kind of person do you think I am, Maka? You really think that when I have you strapped to a polygraph in front of our entire class, I'd ask you something like that?" He snorted and shook his head. "You must have a really low opinion of me."

She reared back like he'd just physically slapped her. "What? I - no, I don't-"

"Of course I'm not gonna fucking ask," he said, last night's anger returning with just as much bite. "Because despite what Stein wants from me, I'm not a terrible person just yet. I'm not gonna pry the truth from you with a fucking polygraph. I may be a lot of things, but I'm not cruel."

"Soul, I-"

"And did you ever consider an alternative? That I just don't want to know?" He ignored the bitter taste of the lie in his mouth. "It happened. You did what you did. Nothing personal, right?"

"No." Maka shook her head vehemently. "No, that's not - you're putting words in my mouth."

"Only because you aren't bothering to."

"Because you won't let me talk!"

He folded his arms, assuming a forced casual pose he knew would drive her crazy. "So talk."

"I thought," she said slowly, taking the time to gather her words, "that you were trying to protect me. That you didn't think I could handle the hardest thing you could throw at me."

Soul laughed. "I'm not stupid, Maka. I know you can handle it. I know you can handle anything. But that doesn't mean you should have to."

She blinked at him. "Oh," she said, voice small. "I didn't think of that."

"Clearly." His lips twitched. "So is there anything else you want to tear into me for?"

"I - no."

"Then if you'll excuse me…" He turned and began to walk away. He hadn't taken more than four steps when a few of her previous words hit him with enough force that he nearly stumbled. Quickly, he pulled his composure back together, and when he turned back to her, there was a faint smirk carefully arranged on his face. "The hardest question I could throw at you, huh?"

Her brows drew together. "What?"

"The question you wanted me to ask. It was the hardest one to answer?"

To his immense surprise, her cheeks slowly flushed pink and her mouth opened into a tiny 'o'. Before he could say anything else, she quickly turned and disappeared around the corner. A small shiver of satisfaction ran down his spine. He tried not to think about it for the rest of the day.

He failed.

* * *

There was a knock on his door late that night. When he opened it, he found Maka standing on the other side, hands twisting and mouth set stubbornly. "Come with me," was the only thing she said, and he barely had time to blink in surprise before she turned on her heel and walked off down the hall.

He muffled a curse as he hurried to follow after. Not once did she look behind to check on his progress.

She led him to the main room, now empty and lit only by every other fluorescent panel. The polygraph equipment from that morning was still lying on the table, highlighted in a pool of harsh light. Maka stopped as she grew level with it, fingers touching the wires lightly. Her gaze was downcast.

Soul slowed before he reached the front, unsure of what entirely was going on. Before he could ask, though, Maka looked up.

"I'm sorry." She blurted it out so forcefully, it sounded like the words had been torn from her lips.

"I - what?"

"I'm sorry for coming after you today. I didn't think it through. And…" She worried her lip. "I want you to ask me that question. The one you didn't ask this morning."

As much as he appreciated an apology for her accosting of him after the test, he really didn't want to talk about how she played him for an idiot the night before. He shook his head. "It's whatever. Don't worry about it." He turned to go.

"Goddamit Soul, hear me out!"

When he faced her again, her cheeks were flushed a faint pink, her fists clenched at her side. At his expression, she softened, flexing her fingers. "Please. Just let me explain."

Something in her stance was so, so vulnerable. Before he knew it, he was nodding. "Yeah. Okay."

She reached for the wires and lifted them up as though to begin strapping herself into the polygraph. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Putting on the polygraph," she said simply.

Anger flared in his veins. "Is this another goddamn challenge to you? See if you can lie your way through it? You did it this morning, so why not sharpen your skills?"

She dropped the wires. "What? No! No, that's not… I thought you'd like knowing I wasn't lying."

"Maka…" He shook his head. "I'm not gonna make you strap into a polygraph to explain yourself. You can say whatever you want. I trust you."

He hadn't expected those words, and it was clear from her expression that she hadn't either. They blinked a little stupidly at each other, then looked away. Soul shuffled his feet as Maka cleared her throat. "Right, Okay, then." She drew closer to him and took a seat at one of the desks in the front row, gesturing for him to do the same. Once he'd followed suit, Maka began speaking.

"Marie came to get us around the same time my father went to you. And when she explained what he'd assigned us, I just… I couldn't stand it. All these weeks of endless training - don't get me wrong, I do enjoy it-"

"You don't say," Soul muttered, but he bowed his head at her glare. "Right, sorry."

"I hated the thought of going somewhere and trying to chat up any guy I could, just to pass a test. That's what I was thinking about when you walked in, just how miserable that night was going to be. And then I saw you, and everything didn't seem as miserable. I pictured spending that evening talking to you, no plan or designs or anything, and I didn't want to do anything else."

Soul's heart did a funny little leap in his chest, because she had just put into words what he'd felt upon seeing her sitting at that corner table, shredding up the label on her root beer, looking entirely unhappy. He tried to swallow down the feeling and nodded for her to continue.

"But the entire time, I couldn't forget why we were both there. I knew you had the same assignment as I did; all recruits get the same testing. But you hadn't said anything, and not once did you ever try to mention leaving together." She kept staring at her hands, so Soul couldn't get a read on what she's thinking.

"I couldn't forget. I have to get through this and become an agent. Shibusen - it's been so important to me for so long. And I'm not trying to say that it's not important to you." She looked up, trying to make him understand, and he nodded. He thought he knew where she was going with this.

"If I wash out, I'm done. My father won't ever let me back, and I'll never have the chance to find out about my mother. I don't have your computer skills, so I have no hope of finding out if I'm gone. I need this, more than anything. And that's all I could think of at the end of the night."

"You needed to pass."

She nodded. "My father will use any excuse to try and get me washed out. My record has to be flawless, and includes last night's test."

"And you knew I'd call a cab and see you back."

"You're a kind person, Soul." Her voice was so quiet he almost had to lean forward to catch her words. "And I like talking to you. So to answer the question you didn't ask this morning - you were someone I wanted to spend an evening in a bar with, and I knew you'd help me out if I needed it. So I took advantage of that."

He was quiet for a few long moments. Maka didn't move. "I get it," he said, finally. "I'm not entirely thrilled with it, but I understand."

"Thank you for that," she said. Her brow furrowed suddenly and she looked up. "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I lied this morning in the polygraph? About my mother?"

He shrugged. "The way you talk about her. It's the same with me and Wes. You didn't ever have to say it."

She laughed. "You'd think so, but my father doesn't have a clue."

"I don't think anyone's under the impression that he knows you very well."

Her gaze grew distant. "He became a different person after she went missing. There are a lot of things about me that would surprise him."

"You passing last night is one of them, I'm sure."

She flushed. "Yeah. I'm gonna apologize in advance for if he says anything to you."

A wicked smile spread across Soul's face. "Now that is something I could have fun with."

She shot him an indignant look, but couldn't quite keep her mouth from turning up at the corners. "Don't you dare."

"Hey, I've got to get my entertainment from somewhere."

"You do that, the only thing you're likely to get is an extra sparring session."

Soul winced. "Yeah, on second thought…"

They fell into a comfortable silence, the air between them no longer filled with anger or betrayal. They continued talking for a few minutes more before leaving the classroom and returning back to their dorms. As Soul slipped into his room, he couldn't help but feel that something between them had changed a little.

He looked forward to seeing what that change might bring.

* * *

The next evening all the recruits were gathered in the lecture hall around an hour before curfew. Evening training and tests were nothing new, but what was unusual was that Barton was the only instructor standing at the front. He seemed to sense the confusion and addressed the question everyone had right away.

"Most of our instructors are off campus for the next day or so, as they've been called away for a briefing at headquarters. Therefore, tonight's test falls to me."

A few murmurs ran through the crowd as they speculated on both the briefing the other instructors were receiving, and what kind of test they'd be undertaking that night.

Barton silenced the whispers with a wave of his hand. "Now, you've been studying how to blend in with a crowd, along with how to tail a target. Tonight you'll be driven into a nearby town to put that to the test."

Another round of whispers raced through the crowd. Aside from their little excursion to the bar, off-campus tests were also very uncommon. Excitement began to lace the air as everyone anticipated the chance to stretch their legs outside and spend a little time closer to the rest of society.

Barton continued with the test parameters. "You'll be in teams of three - one of you will act as the mark, and the other two will be responsible for tailing. Your goal is simple: successfully follow your mark, or successfully shake your tails." He scanned the class of recruits in front of him. "Any questions?"

There were none, so it took little time to get every dressed in civilian clothes and piled into the academy vans. They drove out to a little towncenter about thirty minutes away, and once they were on their way, pairings were listed off.

Soul was a little surprised to hear that he and Maka were to be paired together once more. Usually, partnering swapped around frequently so recruits wouldn't get too used to the same partner for too long. Not that Soul was complaining.

They were dropped off in the parking lot of the shopping center, which stretched along on either side of a main road. Their third partner was a recruit neither of them knew well, a guy named Simon. He nodded to them before hopping out and starting off down the road, hands tucked in his pockets to protect them from the November cold.

"Remember,'' Barton said to them, "to pass, you need to give me his final destination. If you can't, it means he successfully lost you and you've failed the mission."

Both Maka and Soul nodded. They hopped out of the van and started down the same street as Simon, both keeping an eye on the navy blue peacoat bobbing down the sidewalk a block or so in front of them.

They kept close together, just another couple out getting some early holiday shopping done. Soul snuck a few glances at some of the other people around them, marveling for a moment. They had no idea that CIA recruits were mingling with them for a night, no idea that they were providing the environment for a training exercise.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Maka said, echoing his thoughts. "Being out here, like we're just shopping. Nothing else on our minds."

Soul nodded. "It's strange, feeling so separated from everyone else. Seeing things so differently."

"Can you imagine going back after all this? Going through all the training, learning to see the world differently, and then being dumped back into it. I don't know how I'd deal with it."

Soul wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tucked her into his side. When she shot him a look, he shrugged. "I'm either reinforcing our cover or trying to keep warm. Take your pick."

She only burrowed in closer. Soul tried not to think about it as he said, "You'd never have to worry about that anyway."

She twisted her head to look up at him. "Why not?"

Soul snorted. "If anyone's making it through this hellscape of training, it's you. You were born into this."

Maka looked back ahead. "Simon's turning into the alley up ahead."

"I see it."

"That's what I worry about, though," Maka said, picking up the thread of the conversation. "That this is all I've ever known, and that if I somehow do fail, I won't know what to do with myself after. I won't know how to be anything else."

Soul opened his mouth to reply as they turned down the alley, but stopped dead one he took in what was waiting for them.

Simon was gone, and in his place was a half-dozen men, all wearing masks, all lying in wait for the two of them.

Maka and Soul exploded into action, lashing out with punches and kicks alike. Soul caught one of them across the face, sending him careening into the side of a van they'd backed into the alley. The side door was open, and it was clear what they meant to do with the two recruits they'd surprised.

Maka executed a textbook roundhouse kick, striking one of them on the ear. He fell back, only to be replaced with another who grabbed Maka from behind, capturing her in a massive bear hug. Maka snapped her head back, connecting with his nose. Blood gushed down his face as he stumbled back, cursing.

One of them drove a fist into Soul's stomach, driving the air out. Soul staggered away, heaving for air, but managed to dodge the follow-up. He kicked out at the man advancing on him, striking his knee. His attacker collapsed, howling in pain.

Soul gasped in a lungful of air, whipping his head around to take stock of the fight. Maka was caught between two of them, her face contorted into an angry growl as they tried to move her towards the van. One of them shoved a hood over her head.

Soul took a few steps towards them to help, but something heavy struck the back of his head. He fell to the ground, face pressed against the grimy pavement, Maka's shouts of horror growing fainter and fainter with every passing moment. A pair of boots stepped into his darkening field of view, and he could barely make out the image of one of their attackers crouching down to look at up. He looked up and said something, but Soul could only hear garbled syllables as his hearing further receded.

Darkness finally took him, and he passed out.

* * *

When he woke up, Soul's mouth tasted like old pennies and his head pounded a steady, kick-drum beat. He sat up and tried to move his hands, but they were zip-tied behind him. His ankles were likewise attached to the metal legs of the rusty folding chair he sat in. He gave himself a minute to let his vision and his head clear, but he didn't like what he saw once he was lucid.

Crumbling brick walls surrounded him. Rotting wood rafters help up the ceiling, where vents and wiring snaked their way across. The floor was cement, and spattered here and there with suspicious-looking stains that Soul didn't really want to examine that closely. A dim, flickering bulb lit the room. It looked like an old basement, but aside from that Soul had no real way of knowing where he was, or who had taken him.

He pulled against his restraints, testing them. To his dismay, whoever had secured them had done a thorough job. If they'd been tied in front of him, he'd be able to pop them open, but since they were behind, there was nothing he could do. If he tipped the chair over, he probably could get his legs free, but then he was still tied to a chair, which would most likely be on its side, when whoever had taken him returned. Not the best position to be in.

The only thing he could do - as much as he hated it - was wait.

It was hard to tell, but he thought a half-hour must have passed before someone finally entered. A tall, lean man with blond hair and, strangely, wearing a clergyman's collar and crucifix - opened the cellar door and stepped across the threshold. Two ordinary-looking thugs followed after him and locked the door, as though Soul had any chance of escaping from the chair and taking all three of them on. He couldn't decide if he should be flattered by that.

The clergyman squatted right next to Soul and looked him in the eye, his expression calm and maddeningly blank. He stared at him silently for a long minute, and though Soul wanted to fidget, he refused to let himself. Whoever this bastard was, Soul wouldn't let him get under his skin.

"What, you want me to smile or something?" he said in a deadpan.

The clergyman finally spoke up. "The names of your instructors. Now."

Soul barely reacted, though his mind began to race. "Dude, I dropped out of MIT. Meaning that I was sleeping through half my classes. I can barely remember shit about them, let alone whoever the fuck was teachin' 'em. Sorry."

He smiled thinly. "That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. Now. The names of your instructors. And the location where you're training, if you'd be so kind."

"You know, I'm not feeling all that kindly today," Soul said. "Except, no, actually…"

The man waited expectantly.

"If you'd be so kind, go fuck yourselves."

The clergyman pushed himself to his feet, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. "Very well. Perhaps we should start with the girl first."

Soul's face remained blank, but inside he was screaming. They had Maka, of course they had Maka. But she was strong, stronger than him, she could outlast every single cadet in their class combined.

She could, he kept telling himself.

She had to.

* * *

The next visit came a few hours later, and though Soul's wrists were much more raw, he wasn't any closer to escaping the chair.

The clergyman still looked impeccably put together, but Soul wasn't able to determine if that was good or bad. On one hand, he couldn't see any physical evidence that Maka had been tortured, or that she'd bled, but he very well could have changed before coming to Soul. Only, if he'd wanted to get under Soul's skin, wouldn't he have kept bloodstained robes on?

Fuck, he was overthinking this. Better to pay attention to what he could prove and confirm.

"It occurred to me that I was quite rude to you before. I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Justin, and I very much require information you have in your possession. If you would, the names of your instructors."

"If you would still go fuck yourself."

"Now, you don't seem to understand." Justin stepped forward, one hand coming up to rub the crucifix around his neck. "I'm on a holy mission, given to me by the highest power that exists. But I can only complete this mission if you give up the identities of those instructing you. Please, this is my duty and my calling. I must fulfill it."

Who was this Justin? A terrorist? He seemed completely devoted to his cause, and nothing good could ever come of that. Soul already knew that he couldn't give up the names, though he didn't want to think about what was coming when he didn't. He'd contemplate that bridge when it arrived.

A small, wriggling little thought wormed its way into the back of his head. Why would anyone be interested in the names of training instructors, or a training facility? Wouldn't anyone planning an attack prefer to go after actual agents, or actual CIA property? Or maybe Justin was going after students because they were weaker. Soul straightened up at the thought. Even if that were true, he had no desire to prove himself as weaker just because he was a student. But still, something didn't add up.

"Is this a test?" The question was out before he'd even really thought it. The idea made sense. Take a student, threaten him a little, see if he'd sing like a canary. Well, Soul wasn't playing. "I get it, alright, I'm not gonna talk, you can end it now. I get the point!" This last he yelled loudly to anyone listening in.

Justin smiled, but there was no amusement in it. "Oh no, I'm afraid this is no test. You're not in your safe, secure, training facility anymore. And there's no one around to protect you."

Soul didn't even see him move. One second, Justin was crouched in front of him, and the next, his fist was sinking deep into Soul's midsection. His breath exited in one large gust, leaving him doubled over and wheezing. Soul's mouth hung open as he gasped for breath, but none came.

Justin leaned close, his mouth near Soul's ear. "I would suggest you cooperate," he said quietly. "I have several methods at my disposal, and I don't think you would wish to encounter any of them."

Soul sucked in a gulp of air, finally filling his empty lungs. He angled towards his ear, and Justin, thinking he might get what he wanted, tilted his head accommodatingly. Instead, Soul told him where exactly he could stick his alternative methods.

The next blow struck Soul across his cheek, splitting open his skin. Warm blood trickled down his face. His head rang from the impact. Justin stood, regarding Soul as if in a new light, then began walking for the door. "This might take more than I anticipated," he told someone outside. "We'll try something else."

Then the door shut behind him, leaving Soul alone once more.

* * *

Time was difficult to keep track of, as there were no windows in the room and the only light came from the unreliable bulb above Soul. He scanned every corner of the room, trying to find some indication of where he might be, or even a tool he could use to form an escape. He came up empty on both counts.

The zip-ties proved reliable, as no matter how hard Soul pulled, they would not yield. He gave up when he felt warm liquid trickle down his wrists - he'd pulled so tight he'd split the skin.

The next time Justin came, two men followed him in. They took turns dealing blow after blow after Justin asked his questions, and still Soul failed to answer. He braced himself for each punch, remembering the days when he'd moaned about playing Cole's punching bag. Oh, how he wished he could swap places now.

Eventually, Justin stopped them. He whispered something in one of the men's ears, prompting a nod. They both left, leaving Justin and Soul alone once more.

"I know you think you're being brave, but you're not helping anyone," he said. "Despite what you may think, this isn't a game."

I don't think it's a game," Soul panted, each word coming with tremendous effort. "But I still won't tell you anything."

"You will. I have a higher power on my side, and he will not be denied. You will tell me what you know. What matters is how quickly that time comes. That is the thing you have control over."

When he left, Soul tried his best to keep from sagging in his chair.

He failed.

* * *

Minutes later, Soul heard something that chilled his blood and set him writhing against his chair with renewed strength. A faint screaming echoed from the crack underneath the door, growing louder and louder until the noise had practically burrowed into Soul's head. But it was who the scream belonged to that really concerned him.

Maka. Justin had made good on his promise and was going after Maka now, and though Soul didn't care much about what happened to him, he couldn't stand listening to the same happening to Maka.

"No!" he cried out, the word bubbling past his lips involuntarily. "No, leave her alone. You have me, alright, focus on me, just let her go!"

But the screaming didn't stop. Not for hours.

Soul barely registered the tears pouring down his face. Only when the screams finally died did he take a shuddering breath and loosen the tension in his arms. _But that might not mean she's alright_ , he told himself. He didn't let himself think about what the alternative was.

When Justin came again some time later, Soul was practically spitting rage. "You leave her out of this," he hissed. "You only need the one, and that's me, okay?"

Justin regarded him with a carefully neutral expression. "But you haven't given me anything. So why should I?"

Soul screwed his eyes shut. The decision was impossible. Give Justin the names of his instructors, and he'd have broken. Stay silent, and Maka suffered further.

He could almost hear her voice in his head. _I can take this bastard_ , she told him. _You know I'm stronger than that. So give him hell._

And though it broke his heart, Soul shook his head.

"What was that?" Justin leaned in. "Do you have something to tell me?"

"Okay," he said quietly, his head hanging as though he couldn't support it anymore. "Okay."

Justin's eyes sparked with a predatory gleam. "What are the names of your instructors?"

Soul lifted his head up to look him in the eye. "John's the wise guy. Paul's the cute one. George is pretty quiet… there's another kid, but I can't remember his name…"

The eagerness dropped away from Justin's face as though it had been wiped clean. He backhanded Soul across the face, but he couldn't feel much of it by now.

"I think I see now, why she was so desperate for you. You make her laugh, don't you?" Suddenly he threw something rough into Soul's face. "These may smell. You partner did not hold up nearly as well as you have." With that, he turned and left.

Soul looked down at the fabric that now laid on his lap. They were jeans - specifically, the pair Maka had been wearing on their assignment. And they did smell, of ammonia and sweat. But that meant... no, Justin was wrong, Maka wouldn't…

The sob erupted from his chest without warning. He'd failed her. And now she was - Soul couldn't even think it. Couldn't face it. He kicked and squirmed until the jeans slid off his lap and onto the floor, where he kicked them as far as he could.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so quietly no one else could have heard. "I'm so sorry."

The whine of the naked bulb above him was his only answer.

* * *

The next time they came, they brought with them a car battery and a chunk of wire mesh.

His body instinctively recoiled against the sight, knowing what would come and trying desperately to protect him from it.

"I didn't want to resort to this," Justin said, "but you've left me no choice." He nodded to the men behind him.

One of them set the battery up, attaching the mesh to the jumper cables. The other shoved a rubber bit into his mouth - it'd be difficult for him to give them the answers they wanted if he bit clean through his tongue.

His back pressed hard into the chair, but there was nowhere for him to go. He could only watch helplessly at the mesh came closer and closer, until it touched his chest.

Every muscle in his body seized at once. Energy coursed through his body, stinging every part it touched. The pain was overwhelming.

When they pulled the mesh off him, he slumped over, unable to support himself. Thick fingers pulled the bit out, and he found himself panting for breath, his chest aching unbearably.

"Now," Justin said, "have you found your memory refreshed?"

Soul knew he couldn't take another hit from the battery. His body ached all over, his head pounded, his lungs burned. He had no idea what had happened to Maka, but it likely wasn't good. There was nothing left for him to hope for.

What did it matter if he gave up the names? How much damage could it do?

He was so tired.

He opened his mouth to answer, to spill everything he had on Shibusen, consequences be damned, when the door exploded open.

Two people dressed in full combat gear, helmets and all, stepped through the opening, each one quickly and efficiently taking down their targets. Within seconds, all three men were sprawled out across the ground. A third stepped through the doorway, their back turned as they guarded the exit.

Soul didn't even have the energy to try and see who his rescuers were.

"Soul?" One of them stepped over the bodies and crouched down in front of him. They reached up and pulled their helmet off, revealing thin brown hair and terrified green eyes. "Soul, are you with me?"

"Maka?" He lifted his head with great difficulty, the word like molasses between his teeth. "What're you - thought you were - how?"

"Come on, I'll explain later, we've got to get you out of here." She produced a knife and ducked behind him, carefully sawing through the zip-ties until his wrists were free. The skin shrieked as the plastic fell away, and he saw when his hands were brought in front of him that his wrists were nearly purple and completely swollen. He could barely feel them, and moving was a challenge.

But Maka was determined to get him out of there. She slung an arm over her shoulder, and even though she was so much smaller than him, she managed to carry him about halfway across the room. But then: "Kilik, a little help here?"

The second figure who'd come through the doorway swooped over and ducked under his other shoulder, propping him up as they practically dragged him out. "Hallway's clear," the third figure said, Liz from the sound of it. Together they moved down the hall, Liz carefully sweeping in front while Kilik and Maka kept their weapons accessible should they need them.

They rounded a corner and climbed a staircase leading out of the basement and onto the ground floor of what looked like an abandoned storage facility. Rows and rows of meticulously labeled boxes stretched the length of the warehouse. They made their way down the aisle, carefully checking each row as they passed.

Suddenly, Liz held up a closed fist. The three behind them stopped, and though Soul did his best, he could hear his ragged breathing tearing through the stillness. Liz pivoted around a corner, her gun jumping one, two, three times before stilling. She waved them forward, and they continued. Soul caught a glimpse of a body sprawled in one of the rows, but didn't have the strength to look back and check.

Finally, they reached the front entrance. Liz looked both ways, then stepped outside. They followed her, Kilik and Maka practically hoisting Soul over the doorway.

Two shadows emerged from the parking lot in front of them. Liz stiffened and aimed her gun, then stood down, straightening from her readied stance. Soul could feel Maka stiffen underneath him.

Spirit and Stein approached them, both men looking carefully restrained. "What happened," Spirit asked through gritted teeth.

That was the last thing Soul heard before he passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

When Soul finally regained steady consciousness once more, he wondered at his strange surroundings, and why they'd felt the need to move him into such a claustrophobic room. Once his vision sharpened, however, he realized that he was in the airy, spacious infirmary, and the only reason it felt so tiny and cramped was that it was packed full of people.

"He's awake," Jackie said quietly, setting the whole room to attention.

"Thank god," someone murmured amid a chorus of relieved sighs.

"The hell's going on?" Soul groaned. He tried to prop himself up on one elbow to get a better look at everyone, but his ribs shrieked in protest. A hand caught his back and lowered his down to bed. "The fuck happened?" He remembered a dimly lit basement, water dripping from rotting wood rafters, white hot pain embracing his ribcage, and the smoke and chaos of the door blowing in to reveal Maka in all her furious glory.

"Motherfucking Barton, that's what goddamned happened." Blake was leaning against the foot of the bed opposite him, and had it been any other day, Soul might have said he was only relaxing with his friends. But upon closer But upon closer inspection, his mouth was pulled tight at the corners, his arms flexed as though itching to explode into action, and his eyes sparked with barely contained rage.

"What?" Soul didn't remember seeing Barton there. "I don't understand."

"The kidnapping was staged." Maka was sitting to his right, her hand clenching a handful of his sheets in a grip so tight her knuckles were white. Her voice was a shaky calm. "When they pulled the bag off my head, I was in a van headed back here. Barton was in the lecture hall with a screen showing the room they kept you in. And there you were right in the middle, still unconscious."

"It was all a test," Liz said woodenly from the bed to his left. "Barton set it all up - kidnap you and smuggle you away to some abandoned safe house, then torture you for information while the rest of us watched."

"It was a test," Kilik picked up, "to see if you would break. To show us what would happen if we were ever caught."

Soul wasn't sure if his growing nausea was due to what they were telling him, or the pain. "Oh God." He slid his eyes shut, allowing their words to wash over him. Part of him wasn't surprised - Barton had always exuded a fanatical energy. But to go that far… "What happened to him? I mean, Spirit and Stein and the rest of them can't have approved that." Dread sunk like a stone in his stomach. "Tell me they didn't approve that."

Maka shook her head so fiercely her pigtails hit her face. "Absolutely not. My dad was furious, and Stein…" The others shuddered. "I've never seen him that mad."

Kim, who was sitting next to Liz, spoke up. "Barton's out." She pretended to examine her nails, but when Soul caught her eye, she smiled warmly at him. "Sid and Nygus helped him pack last night." The way she said it suggested that there wasn't much "helping" involved at all.

"But…" Soul rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to stave away the headache he felt hovering nearby. "If you were all in the lecture hall, how did you find me?"

Blake sniggered. "Ask Batman over here." He jerked a thumb at Maka. "Stood up right in front of God and everyone and ripped Barton a new one. I thought her hair might actually catch on fire she was so mad." Soul looked over at her, but she studiously avoided his gaze. "Turned to the rest of us and said if we wanted to stay and watch that we could burn in hell with Barton."

Maka's cheeks flushed a faint pink. "You all agreed, didn't you?"

Blake rolled his eyes. "Well, duh, but none of us were gonna stand up and make a speech as pretty as _that_."

"We followed after her," Tsubaki said quietly from the bed next to Blake. "And a few others, actually, but we were the only ones who could actually do something about it."

"Do something?" Soul's brows drew together. "What do you mean?"

No one would look at him straight this time. Until Patti finally broke. "We may have broken several academy rules. Like, all of them."

"What did you do?" No one answered him. He tried to sit up once more, and this time he was successful. He waved off Maka's hovering hands. "Guys, what did you do?"

"Nothing much," Harvar said dryly. "Only accessed Shibusen's mainframe without permission, stole weapons from the storeroom, and hijacked an academy van."

"Among other things," Jackie added.

"You stole…" Soul almost wanted to lay back down. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Well, how else were we gonna come after you?" Patti asked, looking genuinely quizzical.

"I didn't ask you to do that."

Maka answered for all of them. "You didn't have to."

He met her gaze, and the connection that passed between them left him shaken and wishing for a moment that the others weren't there. "You'll get kicked out," he said, still looking at Maka but addressing them all.

"If they condemn what we did," Maka replied, "than I want no part in it."

Soul looked to the others, shocked to see them nodding along. When he'd first arrived, if someone had told him that he would find a group of people like this, willing to break each and every rule to drag him out of that rotting basement, he wouldn't have believed it. His entire life, he'd been a bit of a loner, and now here was a team that he trusted more than anything, a team he would likely do the same thing for. A lump formed in his throat, making it hard to swallow.

"Thank you," he said, voice hoarse.

"Oh, don't get all mushy," Blake said, sweeping the emotion under the rug in one swift moment. "I didn't feel like finding another punching bag." But he grinned widely, one that Soul didn't hesitate to return.

Maka opened her mouth to say something, but never got the chance. One of the nurses pushed open the door, then froze as she took in the crowd around Soul. Her face grew stormy. "I told you two visitors!" she cried, looking not too dissimilar to a rampaging swan. "Two! And you bring half the class with you! Out, out!"

A few of them squawked under the assault, and they all cleared out quickly. Maka was the last to leave, taking his hand and squeezing it once before she followed them. Soul's palm tingled long after she'd disappeared through the door. He'd hoped to replay their conversation back, to dwell a little longer on what he'd learned, but his body still ached from the abuse Barton's minions had inflicted on him. Before he knew it, he was slipping into a deep, healing rest.

* * *

Soul slept on and off for the next day, finally leaving the infirmary with a relatively clean bill of health and a strict warning to take it easy as his bruised ribs continued healing. He went back to his room, surprised to find Harvar absent, but simultaneously glad for the solitude. He sat down on his bed and bent over, scrubbing his face with his hands. Despite the days that had passed, he hadn't completely processed what he'd gone through in that basement. The only reason he'd slept so well was due to the drugs they'd given him for the pain, and now that they'd taken him off them, he wasn't looking forward to sleeping on his own.

The door creaked open, and he saw Maka standing in the doorway. She looked hesitant, which was a strange look on her. "Can I come in?"

Soul beckoned her inside, scooting over so she could sit next to him. She came a little closer than he was anticipating; he could feel the line of her shoulder and hip pressed against his.

They were quiet for a long moment. "I - you really scared me there," she said finally, staring down at the floor.

"I will do my best not to get kidnapped by sadistic spy school teachers," Soul said solemnly. From the look on her face, humor had been the wrong way to go.

"I'm being serious. Watching you on the screen, while Barton had them-" She broke off, unable to continue. "The things they told you, about me…"

Oh god, this is what she wanted to talk about? "I thought Justin had hurt you," he said gruffly. "I heard screams."

Maka shook her head. "It was a recording. I don't know how they got it."

"Well, yeah, I know that _now_."

"I can't watch something like that again," Maka said abruptly. "I can't watch while you get hurt. I can't do it."

Soul recognized the weight of the admission. Maka kept herself so closely guarded, only revealing what she wanted to when she wanted to. The fact she was telling him this… "I'm sorry," he said softly. He reached out and took one of her hands before he could second-guess himself. "But I'm alright." He gave her a small smile. "You rescued me, remember?"

She took a shaky breath, eyes on their joined hands. "Yeah. Yeah, we did."

He wasn't sure if the timing was appropriate to ask, but he was intensely curious. "Um, can I ask how you guys pulled that off, exactly? Because no one has yet explained it to me."

Maka smiled and gave a low laugh. "Yeah, I guess you would be wondering." She shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder how we even managed it."

Soul kept quiet, giving her the time and space to gather her thoughts. Her voice was subdued as she began. "When they brought me back, I kept demanding they tell me what was going on. But I couldn't find any of the other instructors - they'd all be called away to Langley for a briefing or something like that. So when Barton assembled everyone in the lecture hall, I planned on asking him. But then I saw that screen, and you sitting unconscious in that chair, and everything sort of clicked into place. It was a goddamn test, and Barton had arranged everything. He'd waited until all the instructors that might oppose him were off campus, and he set up that stupid little outing in order to set it all off."

Her hand tightened against his. "When those mercenaries came in, and they started questioning you…" Her mouth was set in a thin line, her eyes as hard as granite. "I don't know what came over me. I just got up, and I was yelling, and Barton was just watching me with this awful look on his face, like I was right but couldn't do anything about it. So I decided I would. Even if the others didn't follow me."

"But they did." She shot him a sideways look. "You know, for someone who got such a bad start, you sure are popular."

Soul elbowed her in the side. Without thinking, she nudged him back, unfortunately nailing him right on his sore ribs. He yelped involuntarily; Maka's face was stricken. "Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn't realize-" Her hands fluttered around his waist, wanting to do something to help, but not sure how.

"Kick a man while he's down, huh?" His side still smarted, but he swallowed down the discomfort for Maka's sake. "Keep your pointy elbows to yourself, woman."

She gave him a look. "Did you want to hear how we saved you or not?"

He gestured her to continue. "Please, do go on. Enlighten me as to how you swooped in to save the spy in distress."

Her mouth quirked, but she ignored his remark. "We knew you weren't anywhere at Shibusen, so you had to be off-campus somewhere. Ox, Harvar, Jackie, and Kim were assigned with finding you. They broke into the computer lab and Ox hacked into the Shibusen mainframe to try and find you location. Since they were streaming video, he was able to find you in an abandoned safe house about forty-five minutes away."

"Yeah, but Barton wasn't about to let you just leave campus."

"No, we planned for that." Maka's tone sounded strange.

Soul looked at her carefully. "...You did something else besides what you told me, didn't you?"

"We might have."

He tugged at her hand. "Maka."

She deflated a bit. "Alright, so Blake, Patti, and Tsubaki might have blown up a classroom in the east wing. Just a little bit."

Soul could only blink. "I wish I could say I was surprised. Wait, Tsubaki?"

Maka shrugged defensively. "I wasn't about to let Blake and Patti loose with explosives without supervision!"

Soul threw his head back and laughed. Maka watched him with a smile on her face. When he finally subsided, he looked at her with a wide grin. "You really could move heaven and earth if you wanted to, couldn't you?"

She tossed a pigtail over her shoulder. "Did you ever doubt it?"

Soul caught her gaze, suddenly serious. "No. Not for one second."

Maka seemed taken aback at his directness. She ducked her head down, but couldn't hide the small smile on her face. Soul pretended not to notice as she looked back up and cleared her throat. "Anyway, they went off to create a distraction while me, Kilik, and Liz went off to steal a few guns from the storeroom and hijack one of the vans."

"I understand the van, but why did you take the guns?"

"We didn't know how intense Barton's thugs were going to be when we got there. Don't worry," she said, seeing his slightly concerned look, "we only used the rubber bullets from training."

Soul winced. Real ammunition or not, Barton's men would definitely still be sore, especially if Maka and Liz had come after them.

"We kept in contact with Ox as we made our way there. He kept us updated on the situation inside. We breached like Sid taught us and, well, I guess you know the rest."

Soul certainly did. Along with how their little search and rescue had ended. His face darkened. "Have you heard anything from Spirit and Stein yet?"

Maka shook her head. "Dad only told me that Barton wasn't ever going to see the inside of a CIA building in his lifetime. But other than that…" She shrugged. "After you passed out, they only brought us back here and said that they'd talk with us later. I don't know how long later is supposed to be, though."

"That would be now." Soul and Maka looked up to see Spirit standing in the doorway, not looking entirely pleased. Soul's stomach sank. They were gonna wash out for sure. Then he followed Spirit's gaze and saw him looking at their joined hands. Reluctantly, Soul pulled his hand from Maka's. When she realized what he was doing, and more importantly why he was doing it, however, she captured his hand again, gripping it tightly as she glared at her father.

Soul would have rather sunk through the floor than get in the middle of this battle of wills, so he kept quiet and carefully avoided looking at Spirit directly.

The instructor sighed. "Both of you are needed in the control room in five minutes. Maka knows the way." He made as if to leave, but stopped himself, one hand still on the doorframe. He stared at Soul critically, leaving him no choice but to meet the instructor's gaze. "I'm sorry about what happened," he said gravely. "It should never have happened."

Soul nodded. What else was he supposed to say to something like that? "Yep, totally agree with you there, what on earth were you thinking in hiring a psychopath?" Somehow, he didn't think that would go over well. So he kept his mouth shut.

"Stein and I looked at the tape."

Soul stiffened, clenching Maka's hand tightly. He thought he might be sick. Spirit and Stein had watched him scream and cry and beg for Maka - he couldn't think of anything more humiliating.

"You did what?" Maka seemed to swell with anger, though she kept her grip on his hand and her place by his side. "Dad, you had no right-"

Spirit held a hand up and Maka fell silent. "We needed to make sure Soul would get the treatment he needed, so we had to see what was done. Soul-" Spirit tried to meet Soul's gaze, but Soul wouldn't look up. He focused instead of Maka's fingers intertwined with his own, an anchor to keep him rooted in the present. "Soul," Spirit said again, his voice gentle. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. I know agents who've been in the field for years who wouldn't have held up as well as you did."

Soul snorted in disbelief.

"I'm being completely serious. You didn't even break, didn't give them a single name. That's not worth nothing, no matter what happened."

Soul still wouldn't look at him, but he heard Spirit sigh. "That's all I wanted you to know."

"We'll be there soon," Maka said, and though her tone wasn't as harsh as it had been before, it wasn't necessarily gentle either. Spirit eventually left, his footsteps fading down the hall.

Soul finally looked up to find Maka watching him. "He is right, you know. You went through hell, and you came through it. That's something to be proud of."

"I almost didn't." He could barely get the words out.

"What?"

"I wanted to. I almost told Justin everything he wanted to know… so many times. I really don't know how much longer I would have lasted there. I should have been stronger."

Maka slid off the bed and crouched in front of him, both her hands clasping his. "No," she said fiercely. "Don't you dare think that. You got through it, and it doesn't matter how it happened. It wouldn't have mattered if you did tell Justin everything, because contrary to what Barton thinks, everyone has a breaking point. Including you. And if you'd reached it, no one here would think any less of you for it, okay?"

Soul didn't say anything, but Maka wouldn't let it drop. She clenched his hands tighter, ducking down until he was forced to meet her gaze. "Okay?"

He didn't know how she did it. How she could see right through him and know what words he needed to hear. He huffed out a breath and said, "Okay."

"I'm being serious. I know it won't be easy, processing this, but I'm here if you need me. We all are."

"I know." And he did. It might take some working through, but with the others by his side, he could see that it might be possible. "Thank you."

She smiled. "Good. Now we really do have to get to that meeting." She pulled him up to standing, not realizing it would bring the two of them into very close proximity. Maka froze as he brushed against her, and Soul could see her throat bob as she swallowed. But she didn't move back.

He looked down at her, this tiny fireball of a woman, and smiled. As if she could read his thoughts, the corner of her mouth pulled up. They stood like that for one long, frozen moment, just appreciating the chance to be in each other's company. If it were any other day and any other moment, Soul might have considered leaning down just a fraction, might have wondered what she would do if his eyelids fluttered shut.

But he needed time. It was enough to have her here, by his side, giving him the encouragement and support he needed to work through the events of the past few days. This was enough.

She seemed to read that in his eyes, because he could have sworn that she nodded in reply. _For now_ , she seemed to say. _This is enough. I'm right here._ Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek, her face flushing the lightest pink.

Soul's heart swooped low in his chest, but before he could react, Spirit's voice floated down the hall. "Two minutes, now."

Maka stepped back, the spell broken. "We'll _be_ there, Dad!" she yelled, huffing in annoyance.

"I guess we should probably go," Soul said.

Maka nodded. "I'll show you."

And even if they were about to receive the news that they'd been kicked out, Soul couldn't find it in him to care.

* * *

Maka led him through an unfamiliar part of the facility until they reached a plain white door. She pushed it open without looking back, and after taking a deep breath, Soul followed her inside.

The control room looked exactly how it sounded - a scattered assortment of screens filled the front wall, while two rows of computers sat in facing them. Stein and Spirit stood at the front, and the rest of the space was filled with the recruits who had aided Maka in Soul's rescue. They all looked anxious at some level, though some less than others. A buzz of anticipation filled the air. Was this is then - had they all been called here to be expelled?

"Now that we have you all here," Stein said, completely disregarding the nervous atmosphere, "we can begin."

"Now, I know you think we've asked you here to expel you from the program," Spirit said, stepping in. "But I'd like to assure you that that's not the case at all."

No one spoke, but the confusion was clear. What was he talking about?

"Several of the exercises you've participated in during the last few weeks were originally designed to highlight the value of independence and working alone. However, Stein and I have been questioning the strength of that outlook."

"And you all decided to prove us right," Stein added.

"I'm sorry sir, but what does that mean?" Kilik asked.

"It means, you all performed better when you worked together," Spirit said, and Soul could have sworn there was a smile on his face. "Instead of isolating yourselves and competing, you became a team. And you beat out everyone else because of it."

Soul's heart skipped a beat. That almost sounded like - but it couldn't be.

"We've decided to change things up a little, not in small part due to your recent stunt." Stein looked directly at Blake as he spoke, and while anyone else might have cowered, Blake only puffed his chest out with pride. "So we've divided you into two teams, an A team and a B team. Together, you'll make up an elite squadron within the Shibusen program called Spartoi."

"In other words," Spirit said, spreading his arms wide, "welcome to the NOCs."

Soul's brain might have short-circuited. He'd gone into the program not even sure if he would make it long enough to find his brother, and now he'd made it into the NOC program? They all had? He turned to Maka, just to get confirmation that he'd heard right. She was beaming, practically glowing with glee. She grabbed his arm and squeezed it. "We did it," she said quietly. "We're going to find them."

His knees went weak. They had done it. Together, as a team.

"Settle down," Stein said, but there was a satisfied air about him. "Now, you won't get much time to celebrate your achievement. Your first briefing starts now."

Soul wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to recall anything if they began a briefing right this instant, but he wasn't about to complain.

"As of 2200 last night, we lost contact with an agency asset that's been working an assignment with one of the more dangerous arms dealers in Europe." Stein clicked a remote, and a picture popped up on one of the screen. A lean, dangerous-looking woman stared back at them. She was dressed in a slinky evening gown, and geometric snake tattoos wound their way up her arms. MEDUSA, the caption read. "At 0600 this morning, we intercepted this phone call."

Stein clicked another button, and an audio recording appeared on another screen. Sound waves danced in a jerky pattern as a voice filled the room. "Let her sister know that everything's in place," the voice said. "She won't have any trouble, and that's a promise. They won't know what hit them."

The gentlest breeze might have knocked Soul over. His hands trembled, and for a moment, he wondered if he would even be able to remain standing.

"Soul?" Maka had noticed his distress. "What's wrong? Do you know that voice?"

The others were watching him now, but Soul could barely feel the weight of their eyes on him. Something else pressed against his ribcage with much greater pressure. "You could say that."

"What do you mean?"

Soul couldn't take his eyes off the audio player, and though the message had finished, he couldn't stop replaying the voice in his head, savoring the pitch and tone the way a man dying of thirst savors his first sip of water. He hadn't heard that voice in over five years, but here it was again.

After years of searching, he'd finally found it. Found him.

"That's Wes. That's my brother."


End file.
